I was taking Intro to Marketing with Prof. Jeff Schmidt (who is an awesome guy and if you're still at U of I you should defintely take his class) and I'd fallen in love with our textbook Marketing: An Introduction written by marketing-god Phillip Kotler, another really good guy, which makes up for the really lame title. I had never read a textbook (or very many books for that matter) with such zest. It was really quite ridiculous. Anyhoot, one day I'm reading my marketing text and I come across this story (see below) that's just way too funny to keep to myself, so of course I read it aloud to everyone around me - on several occasions that day. And then I realized that I was reading stories aloud to my friends from my marketing textbook. And I've never looked back since.So, without further ado, the article that made me realize my love for advertising/marketing:
My Dead Dog May Already Be A Winner
by Lee Coppola (originally published in Newsweek, July 5, 1999, pg. 11)
by Lee Coppola (originally published in Newsweek, July 5, 1999, pg. 11)
Ever wonder what happens when a pet takes on a persona? Ashley could have told you, if he could have talked. Ashley was the family mutt, an SPCA special, part beagle and part spaniel.
For years, most of them after he died, he also served as the family's representative in the local telephone book. He was picked for the role quite haphazardly one day when I tried to keep my number out of the book to avoid getting business calls at home. When I balked at the $60-a-year fee, the cheery telephone company representative suggested I list the number in one of my children's names.
I was munching on a sandwich at the time and Ashley followed me around the kitchen waiting for a crumb to fall. Can I put the phone in any name? I asked the rep as I sidestepped Ashley. Certainly, she answered, and therein gave birth to 10 years of telephone calls and mail to a dog.
A remarkable new book about the Coppolas since the Civil War is about to make history--and you, Ashley Coppola, are in it, touted one letter asking Ashley to send $10 right away for this one-time offer. Ashley received hundreds of pieces of mail, the bulk soliciting his money.
The most ironic pitches for cash were from the SPCA and the Buffalo Zoo, a kind of animal-helping-animal scenario. And we wondered how the chief executive of a local cemetery might react if he knew he was asking a canine to buy a plot to give his family peace of mind. Or a local lawn service's thoughts about asking a dog who daily messed the grass, Is your lawn as attractive as it could be? Then there was the letter offering Ashley reliable electronic security to protect your home. One of the kids asked if that wasn't Ashley's job.
The kids soon got into the swing of having their dog receive mail and telephone calls. He's sleeping under the dining-room table, one would tell telemarketers. He's out in the backyard taking a whiz, was the favorite reply of another. My wife would have nothing of that frivolity, preferring to simply reply, He's deceased.
But that tack backfired on her one day when our youngest child took an almost pleading call from a survey-company employee looking for Ashley. I'm Ashley, the 17-year-old politely replied, taking pity on the caller. He dutifully gave his age and answered a few questions before he realized he was late for an appointment and hurriedly cut short the conversation. Can I call you again? the surveyor asked. OK, our son said as he hung up.
Sure enough, the surveyor called again the next day and asked for Ashley. But this time Mom answered and gave her standard reply. Oh my God, exclaimed the caller. I'm so, so sorry. The surveyor's horrified grief puzzled my wife until our son explained how he had been a healthy teenage Ashley the day before.
It seemed direct mailers had a tough time figuring out Ashley's sex and marital status. He was named by our daughter at the time she was reading Gone With the Wind and was smitten with Ashley Wilkes. Dear Mr. Coppola, his mail sometimes would begin. More often, though, Ashley's mail came to Mrs. Coppola or, on those politically correct occasions, to Ms. Coppola.
Sometimes we worried about our dog's fate. You see, he broke several chain letters urging him to copy and send 20 others or risk some calamity. After all, Ashley was warned, didn't one person die nine days after throwing out the letter?
Did I mention credit cards? Ashley paid his bills on time, judging from the $5,000 lines-of-credit for which he automatically qualified. Made us wonder about the scrutiny of the nation's credit-card industry.
Of course, Ashley was no ordinary dog. He was an Italian dog. How else to explain the solicitation to Mr. Coppola Ashley that came all the way from Altamura, Italy, and sought donations to an orphanage? Then there was the offer to obtain his family's cherished crest, fashioned hundreds of years ago in Italy, and purchase the Coppola family registry that listed him along with all the other Coppolas in America.
Is there some message to all this? Think of the saplings that were sacrificed to try to squeeze money from a canine. Or the time, energy and money that were wasted each time a postage or bulk-mail stamp was affixed to an envelope being sent to a mutt. We did feel sheepish about the deception when the mail came from the self-employed trying to make a buck. We wondered if a local dentist really would have given Ashley a complete initial consultation, exam and bitewing X-rays for ONLY THREE DOLLARS. And what might have been the expression on the saleswoman's face if Ashley had shown up for his complimentary Mary Kay facial?
Ashley did appreciate, however, the coupon for dog food.
