Activities for public relation *

Publicity stunts

Speak of publicity, and the average person usually thinks of stunts which are invented to attract the public's attention. For example, he thinks of an exhibition of bathing beauties. He thinks of photographers' models smoking cigarettes on New York's Fifth Avenue. He thinks of motion-picture stars, in an aura of sweet domesticity, baking batches of biscuits. He thinks of stage stars bathing in goats' milk and of ferocious-looking lions roaming the lobby of a hotel.

It is true that the staging of stunts for the purpose of publicity provides the basis for news which never grows monotonous. Invented by men and women who are endowed with a news sense plus fertile imaginations, these publicity stunts provide the topics for most of the livelier news stories and pictures that appear in the newspapers and, as an unseen by-product, sometimes result in the makings of drama. In connection with the latter, it often turns out that what happens to a publicity man while he is putting on a stunt to get publicity would make far more interesting reading than does the material that he submits to the newspapers.

The story of the saddle-horse publicity stunt

In New York, a publicity man ran across a long-forgotten law or regulation which required that a saddle horse, ridden on a public thoroughfare after dark, must carry a taillight. This gave him an idea for a publicity stunt and, in the interest of a client that manufactures flashlight batteries, the publicity man went earnestly to work on his project.

He rented a saddle horse. To ride the horse, he engaged a pretty model. Then he hired an electrician to wire the horse, not merely with a taillight, but with a headlight as well. Finally, on the horse's side, he had the electrician hang a good sized battery box, complete with a sign emblazoning the battery-maker's name. Having made these preparations, and armed with various kinds of legal permits which authorized his undertaking, the publicity man took his horse and the model and the electrician and also a news-photo service photographer to New York's Central Park.

What happened then was entirely unexpected and nearly wrecked the carrying out of this publicity stunt. With the photographer set up to take pictures, outraged Central Park policemen arrived on the scene and stopped proceedings until they had examined the publicity man's credentials. A few minutes later, there suddenly appeared an elderly gentleman who proclaimed that he was an old horseman himself and loudly pointed out that not only did an illuminated saddle horse violate all of the oldest and finest traditions of horsemanship, but that even the saddle itself was on wrong. By that time, a crowd had collected and gathered close. Then a friendly Central Park pigeon undertook a peanut-hunting landing on the model's head and, as she raised her arm to ward it off, the horse shied and knocked down a little boy whose mother proceeded to let out piercing screams.

Nevertheless, despite all this confusion, the photographer managed to take his pictures, and to send prints of them to every newspaper in town. This, however, did not end the publicity man's misfortunes. To top the climax, the newspapers not only disregarded the pictures, but failed to give this publicity stunt a line of space.

Sequel to the saddle-horse stunt

This saddle-horse episode, however, had a sequel. Some time afterwards, at luncheon in a restaurant, the publicity man encountered a feature writer on a newspaper. In answer to the writer's casual question, "What have you been doing lately?" the publicity man bared his soul and told the story of his frustration in Central Park.

Then, a day or two later, on the split page (first page of the second section) of a New York daily, there appeared a story of what a publicity man can go through and live to tell the tale. The story named the publicity man as the hero, and it told about the police and the pigeon and the screaming mother. Sadly it recounted that out of the travail had come no publicity at all. And finally, by way of a friendly gesture, the story closed with a paragraph to the effect that, lettered on the battery box suspended from the horse's surcingle was the name: EVEREADY. As a result, the publicity man's client was appeased, while the publicity man himself was almost as gratified as if his stunt had "made" all the papers as planned. Thus, the failure of the stunt itself was compensated for in part by its sequel.

Planning a publicity stunt

In planning a publicity stunt which will prove to be successful, the public-relations worker must take pains to make the stunt newsworthy and to make it mean something worthwhile. He must also attempt to foresee untoward developments, the sort of mishaps which will turn the affair into bad public relations for the sponsor. Even though bad publicity may not result from the fact that a stunt which was intended to be of a serious nature turns into something humorous, such a development is not likely to meet with the approval of the sponsor of the project.

As a practical way of showing the difficulties involved in successfully carrying out a serious publicity stunt, use may be made of an illustration. A manufacturer of a brake lining desired to publicize his product. The means of doing this offered a problem. The brake lining had been on the market for some time so it was not news in itself. Tests showed it to be remarkably effective and durable, but laboratory tests make dull reading. Finally, however, a public-relations worker thought he saw an opportunity not only to gain publicity for the brake lining, but good-will for the manufacturer. The story of his efforts follows:

Story of the brake-lining publicity stunt

As a means of publicizing his product, the public-relations worker had the brake-lining manufacturer endeavor to contribute to the highway safety movement by fitting a truck with apparatus to test the "reaction time" of drivers. A seat facing a panel was installed in the body of the truck. The driver to be tested had a steering wheel to hold, and a brake pedal to step on. He was to step on the pedal when a light flashed on the panel. The brake would act on a brake drum and stop the rotation of the truck's wheels. Care was taken that the wheels responded quickly to the brake since the reputation of the manufacturer's brake lining was involved. The time which elapsed between the flash of the light and the pressing of the brake pedal by the driver measured the driver's reaction time.

This was potentially an interesting and useful test, but it needed more significance and more newsworthiness to take it out of the automobile-news columns and make it merit general news space. As a means of doing this, an automobile news editor suggested that the test be used as a demonstration of how alcohol and driving do not mix, and the public-relations worker seized upon the idea as the very thing he had been seeking. Several newspapermen were invited to take the test and, in order to guarantee that the test was of a serious and scientific nature, the psychology department of one of the nation's leading universities was invited to participate. This psychology department thought so well of the idea that it assigned two graduate psychology students to participate in the demonstration.

At this point, the proceedings met with an unforeseen development. The day of the first test was one of the coldest of the winter in New York City. As a result, the newspapermen and psychology students were virtually numb with cold before they could take their turns at the apparatus. Their reaction times while they were still fully sober were noticeably below par. Their first drinks of 100 proof rye whiskey, which were doled out in carefully measured ounces between tests, appeared, however, to restore their circulations, and their reaction times improved.

After several such rounds of drinks, the psychology students finally began to react as expected, but the newspapermen, determined to show that their profession always kept clear heads, continued to step on the brake with speed and precision. It has been recently revealed, however, that one of the newspapermen discovered a defect in the mechanism, which he used to his advantage. He noticed that before the light flashed, there was an audible click, which gave him foreknowledge of the need for action.

Results of the brake-lining publicity stunt

One of the leading newspapers of the city, which reported the driver-reaction tests to the extent of nearly a column, without having participated in them, said that the tests principally tended to prove that a man appreciates a drink on a cold day. This newspaper report amused and entertained nearly everyone but the manufacturer who sponsored the tests. As a result, the driver-reaction-test truck, which had been scheduled for a nation-wide tour, was returned to normal service, transporting brake linings.

Although this brake-lining publicity stunt did not work out satisfactorily, there is an important distinction between it and the saddle-horse stunt previously described. The brake-lining stunt was considerably more than a "gag," and it had potentialities of gaining really favorable attention for the manufacturer. Furthermore, and this is an important technical distinction, there was little possibility of the manufacturer's name being left out of the news reports, since his truck, his especially designed apparatus, and his product were all essential contributions, and essentially part of the story. In contrast, the name of the battery used in the saddle-horse stunt was a trivial detail from the newsman's point of view.

Importance of stunts in public relations

Although it is sometimes contended that stunt publicity is passing out, except possibly in the field of entertainment, the fact still remains that stunting still has its rightful place in the public-relations program. While there may be some grounds for the opinion that a name in print, regardless of what is said about the name, is no longer sufficiently effective in the field of public relations, this does not warrant ruling out entirely what publicity men call "gag" publicity. To do so would be to eliminate from employment a useful public-relations expedient which is still proving its worth.

The job of the public-relations worker is divided almost equally into reporting news and creating news. A company or institution spontaneously produces a certain amount of news material and subject matter for articles, and the public-relations worker duly reports it. Usually, however, this does not meet the requirements of a good public-relations program. The creation of news comes in because the general run of news that develops of its own accord is seldom interesting or important enough. A touch of the dramatic, the amusing, or the entertaining is needed to call attention to the generally prosaic facts of corporate existence. Consequently, the publicity stunt needs to be interjected into public-relations programs to make really effective news.

Traditional ceremonies not stunts

A time-honored ceremony ceases to be a stunt because, through repetition, it has lost its capacity to stimulate any particular interest. For example, a ship-launching ceremony is traditional. Since it is traditional, it will not be reported or pictured to any great extent, unless the ship is an exceptional one, or a new element is introduced into the ceremony. This same holds true of cornerstone laying. In fact, that ceremony has been almost abandoned, except in the case of buildings of great national interest.

These traditional ceremonies, however, such as ship-launchings and cornerstone layings, can be given twists by the imaginative public-relations worker, which will lift them out of the ordinary and sometimes even aid in creating good-will and long-lasting relationships of benefit for the companies involved. For instance, during the last war, a sharp change occurred in the manner of ship-launchings. At some of the biggest shipyards, the "sponsors" at the traditional ship-launching ceremonies were no longer the feminine relatives of the shipbuilding company's executives, or friends in the financial and social communities. Instead of picking Miss or Mrs. Social Register to swing the champagne bottle on the bow, as the "Queen of the Seas" slid down the ways, the shipbuilding company picked the wife or daughter of an actual shipyard worker.

This change in the ship-launching ceremony was hardly noticed by the general public, but it created a furore in shipping circles, and earned substantial dividends in the attitude of labor towards the shipyards. This is a perfect example of how a dull, traditional ceremony may be turned into something novel, which can have far-reaching repercussions of a favorable nature.

Enlivening the cornerstone laying ceremony. Cornerstone laying, even though dominated by the construction industry which, like the maritime industry, has the reputation of being traditional and unyielding, has also proven to be susceptible to interesting twists. For instance, at the cornerstone ceremonies of St. Albans Naval Hospital in St. Albans, N. Y., copies of all the day's newspapers were put into the hollow stone along with other mementoes of the period. As a result, the newspapers that were so honored played up the story of the cornerstone laying, and many of them published photographs showing their issues, with the front page facing the camera, being interred for the edification of future generations.

Variations of this idea used at St. Albans are almost certain to be effective at other similar occasions, and do not need the experience of a veteran public-relations worker to carry out. Memorabilia of local current life, consisting not only of newspapers, but of significant and typical objects which are likely to have historic value may be used in a cornerstone laying as a means of stimulating general interest and gaining the attention of the local newspapers.

A cornerstone-laying ceremony can really be important news, however, if, instead of emphasizing things that will be of historic interest, the ceremony lays stress on that power of the future which bids fair to change our lives and our world if we can survive its use for destructive purposes. That was the idea in the mind of Dick Chaplin, resourceful vice-president of the Crowell-Collier Publishing Company, whose dignified title cannot smother his active publicity man's mind.

Dick's company was starting a building of its own in New York City, and he wanted to make the fact rather widely known. So, with the enthusiastic cooperation of the Columbia University Physics Department, he arranged to have the cornerstone laid by "atomic power." Quite legitimately, a circuit was set up whereby atomic radiations were amplified so as to actuate an apparatus which lowered the cornerstone into place. A physics authority spoke on the significance of the occasion–the first time atomic power had been utilized for such a purpose. Since virtually anything of this sort is news in the atomic age, the cornerstone laying acquired not only extensive local publicity, but was spread nationally by the picture syndicates and newsreels.

Contests

Because competition is the spice of life, contests are the most familiar form of stunt. And because people like to look at pretty girls, such girls are often involved in the contests.

Beauty contests are often held in such resort centers as Atlantic City for the purpose of obtaining what might be called "product" publicity in newspapers, magazines, and newsreels. At the finish of these contests, the growers and marketers of fruits and vegetables, as well as the producers of a host of other commodities, take publicity pictures of the winners being crowned Queen Orange, Queen Grapefruit, Queen Potato, Queen O'Grapes, Queen Pecan or some other kind of queen or princess, as, for instance, Princess Trailer Coach.

The question may well be raised as to whether such contests are actual aids in the sale of commodities or products, whether the picture of a girl festooned in persimmons causes a consumer to rush out and buy this fruit. One answer is that any means of calling people's attention to a food or some other product –it may be something they need or something they have not enjoyed for some time –may stimulate them to buy or, in the case of food, order in a restaurant. Often, however, these contests represent only one feature of a much broader publicity campaign. Take the food contests, for example. These are usually associated with a "week" or "festival," and are integrated with full length sales-promotion and advertising campaigns. The stunts are staged primarily to create a little excitement and to do little more than aid in the more workaday features which do the real intensive selling. This point may be brought out by an illustration.

The Cheese Week campaign

One of the earliest of the so-called "weeks" for a food product was Cheese Week, organized almost a generation ago for the specific purpose of moving the seasonal surplus of cheese. The naming of the Cheese Queen, her triumphal appearances, and various other stunts during Cheese Week, were a background against which the salesmen of the Kraft Phoenix Cheese Corporation, the principal sponsor of Cheese Week, did a merchandising job.

These salesmen persuaded independent grocery stores and chain stores to feature cheese during the week; railroad car and hotel stewards to feature cheese specials on their menus; and, all along the line, they did a great deal of similar hard selling. They were greatly helped by the fact that retail cheese distributors knew that Cheese Week would receive a substantial amount of space in the newspapers and magazines, with such material published as cheese recipes run by the food editors in their columns. Cheese Week accomplished its job of moving the cheese surplus –it was good business and good public relations, serving to make for closer cooperation between the cheese marketers and the cheese producers.

Chevrolet and Ford publicity stunts

Contests do not necessarily involve pretty girls. For instance, they may be for prize babies, sponsored by baby-food manufacturers. In other cases, they may be for essays or recipes. In any event, regardless of its nature, a contest, like any other stunt, can contribute to the success of a public-relations program, provided that the contest is of a worthwhile nature and will produce results.

No less a company than General Motors Corporation may be cited as a proponent of this practice. General Motors has a vast public-relations program designed to convince people that any General Motors product is a good one. Its Chevrolet division produces a widely advertised and publicized car. Nevertheless, Chevrolet annually conducts an extensive contest–the Soap Box Derby. The youngsters, who are the car buyers of the future, are reached by this stunt. It serves to start them thinking about Chevrolet early in life. Like Chevrolet, Ford also believes in the efficacy of publicity stunts. Ford's method is to work with the American Legion in encouraging sand-lot baseball. Incidentally, it was in aiding this promotion that Babe Ruth was engaged before his final illness.

Dignified stunting

It is difficult to separate the publicity stunt from dignified public-relations measures, if the stunt is well conceived and executed. Was the "Freedom Train" a stunt? It had all the elements of being one. It was a strikingly new idea for attracting large crowds of people, and for obtaining a great deal of publicity. It also provided a lesson to those who saw the train or read about it on how to present a message effectively. It was, in itself, a whole public-relations program.

Possibly, because of this last characteristic, as well as of its dignified nature, it might be better defined as an event rather than a stunt which is usually only one feature of a public-relations program. Nevertheless, the distinction is not too important since, basically, stunts and events are alike in nature, have the same purpose, and stem from the creative side of public-relations work. At the same time, a public-relations program can be better analyzed if the distinction is made.

In this connection, it is enlightening to examine a fairly typical public-relations project which consists of inviting a selected group of key individuals, such as scientists, engineers, and possibly educators, to visit a manufacturing plant. This is a project which may be considered an event rather than a stunt, since it is of a dignified nature and is a whole public-relations program in itself. As with staged events of other kinds, the public-relations purpose in this case is twofold. First, the direct purpose of this event is to make the plant, and its methods and products, better known to key individuals and groups. Second, the purpose is to generate favorable general publicity by means of this occasion.

Staging the event

The visit to the manufacturing plant may be planned rather elaborately. Engraved invitations are sent to the selected guests, with the polite request, RSVP. In an accompanying letter, each of the guests is told the names of other distinguished persons who are expected to be present, so that each will know that he is going to be in good company. The guests are requested to gather in some central and convenient city and proceed to the plant by special train. They are told that a whole floor, or perhaps two whole floors, in the community's best hotel has been assigned to their use.

The invited guests are also given to understand that throughout the affair, through breakfasts, luncheons and dinners, including a wind-up banquet, the company will be their host. Except for what souvenirs they may buy to take home, not a guest will have to spend a cent. Finally, the guests will be given a logical and sensible reason for the staging of the affair, such as a preview of a new manufacturing process that is likely to revolutionize the whole industry and benefit consumers tremendously.

At the appointed time, the guests assemble at the designated meeting place, and they ride by special train to the plant city. They find that among the people present are the gentlemen of the press. Present, also, is a famous radio commentator: At the plant, where the guests attend a preliminary get-together in the company's spacious dining room, they find that newsreel cameras have already been set up and are ready to start grinding. Thus starts an event which is planned, deliberately and carefully, to generate publicity. From such an event, publicity can scarcely fail to flow. It is based on the saying of the public-relations copy book: "Do good, and make your good deeds publicly known."

Turning a stunt into an event. It is difficult for a public-relations project no matter how interesting, or even dignified, to escape being defined as a stunt if it is nothing more than a one-day wonder. A project which makes its appearance, plays its part, garners its lesser or greater harvest of publicity and attention, then folds its newsprint tent and vanishes, can hardly be considered an event unless it represents a whole public-relations program in itself. What was originally a stunt, however, may become an event if it goes on year after year, solidifying into a tradition in which is embodied, for lasting benefit, the name and nature of the protagonist.

A good example is the Thanksgiving Day Parade staged on that day annually by R. H. Macy & Company, a New York department store. In the beginning, this was a stunt, but, in the course of years, it has become an event which has gathered such momentum that it is practically the highlight of the holiday in New York City—certainly for tens of thousands of children and their parents, who line the route of the parade. While this parade of giant grotesque figures, clowns, tumblers, and fantastic and colorfully costumed "animals" and weird creatures, gets considerable attention in the press, on the air, in newsreels, and in photographs, it does something more for Macy's than to give the store current publicity.

This parade serves to link the store, on a permanent basis, with the families of New York. It serves, also, to imprint the store's name in the minds of children who will grow up, Macy's believes, into patrons of the store. Treating this event purely as a parade, keeping commercialism out, is the basic reason of this success, plus its imaginative handling.

Making a bargain sale a publicity event

One reason why a store runs a bargain sale is to obtain publicity for itself. Frequently, a bargain sale comes under the heading of a publicity stunt. Such a stunt may, however, be turned into an event. For example. Filene's store in Boston has an annual "$11 suit sale" which has been held so many times that it now has become an event. At a certain time, this honored New England emporium gathers together men's suits of all sizes, shapes, colors and degrees of stylishness. These suits are put on display in the basement, and the news is told to Boston and the nearby communities through newspaper advertising.

On the opening day of the sale, the crowds stampede the store in good-natured rivalry, and the sale takes on an atmosphere somewhere between a men's smoker and a picnic out in the woods. It is an event which Boston has taken to its rugged but warm heart. It is a good-natured bargain sale, in a city that loves bargains, and is not ashamed to say so. Even if Filene's should lose money in these sales, it would be difficult for the store to abandon them now. They have become so much of a tradition that Boston would feel lost without them.

Another case of a stunt which eventually took on the characteristics of an event is provided by Rogers Peet, a men's clothing chain in New York. Rogers Peet built up a loyal following among Manhattan's youth by means of a club called "Ropeco," a club publication of the same name, and a membership button. This organization was one of the more democratic distinctions of high school students, and was open to all, even non-Rogers Peet customers. Still seeking the favor of the growing generations, Rogers Peet now sponsors an advertising copywriting contest for college students, and prints their advertisements annually with the name of the winning students and a reproduction of their college banners. Incidentally, all the advertisements tell about Rogers Peet clothing.

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