TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/112690/1126200.000

Text File | 1992-08-25 | 11.6 KB | 223 lines

                                                                                BUSINESS, Page 62

COVER STORY 

READ THIS!!!!!!!!

Some call it direct mail, others know it as junk, but Americans
love the paper flood washing over them as much as they say they
hate it

By JILL SMOLOWE -- Reported by Thomas McCarroll/ New York,
Michael Riley/Washington and Elizabeth Taylor/Chicago


    Does your hand clutch reflexively for the wastebasket when
you encounter an invitation for a "21-day free trial period"? Do
you feel a numbing sensation when confronted by a hysterical
series of !!!!! or uppercased exhortations: THIS IS YOUR
CHANCE!!!!! ONLY YOU CAN HELP!!!!! ORDER NOW!!!!! ? Have you
begun to regard with suspicion bordering on paranoia every piece
of mail marked OFFICIAL or V*A*L*U*A*B*L*E D*O*C*U*M*E*N*T*S
I*N*S*I*D*E? Do the words "You May Already Have Won . . ."
provoke in you an overwhelming desire to nuke the mailman?

    THEN DON'T TURN THE PAGE!!! THIS ARTICLE IS SPECIALLY
DESIGNED FOR YOU!!! You will receive valuable information that
you can use in your home or business!!! For absolutely no extra
charge, you can. . .


    The flood has already begun, and in this holiday season it
will be greater than ever. During the past year, 63.7 billion
pieces of third-class mail found their way into mailboxes across
the nation. For tens of millions of Americans, the seasonal
tide, as faithful as the first snow or the appearance of tinsel
and colored lights, has started to rise. Letter boxes are filled
to bursting with envelopes of every size and color, living rooms
and kitchens are suddenly cluttered with mail on all available
surfaces, and wastebaskets are overflowing with the sale not
made.

    The producers of this mountain of missives call it direct
mail or mail order. The U.S. Postal Service refers to the
onslaught as "bulk business mail." But to most people the deluge
of material that descends on them each year is just plain junk
mail, a typically American sobriquet that recognizes its vast
and disorderly variety, its cheeky aggressiveness and its easy
ability to raise hackles. Whatever its name, it is an
extraordinary by-product of democratic civilization. Catalogs,
catalogs, catalogs. Political flyers. Charitable solicitations.
Environmental entreaties (on recycled paper, naturally).
Sweepstakes packets. Magazine subscription offers. Investment
brochures. Anything-of-the-month promotions. Coupons. Shopping
guides. Freebie newspapers. Gewgaw samples.

    And yet this vast variety is regarded by its recipients
with ambivalence, not to say schizophrenia. The plain fact is
that Americans love the stuff as much as they hate it. Last year
92 million Americans responded to direct-market pitches, a 60%
jump in just six years. According to Marketing Logistics of
Lincolnshire, Ill., a direct-marketing publisher, a grand total
of $183 billion was shelled out for mail-order purchases and
donations. Curse it though Americans may, the great outpouring
of third-class communication can provide an antidote to
loneliness, access to hard-to-find goods and a convenient
answer to a housebound or time-pressed shopper's prayers.
Careful study of this stack offers a handy citizen's guide to
the most urgent political, environmental and social issues of
the day. Cast in the best light, direct mail is the great
American transcontinental linkup. It binds one nation, under Ed
McMahon, indivisible, with bonus coupons and toll-free shopping
for all.

    For better or worse, America is married to the mails as a
cost-efficient way of disseminating that most prized of 20th
century commodities: information. Today more money is invested
in direct-mail pitches, promotions and appeals than is spent on
advertising in magazines or on radio or network television. The
ensuing competition drives direct-mail marketers ever higher
(and lower) to distinguish their message from the rest. To
target potential customers more accurately, they compile and
swap lists that provide increasingly detailed information about
individual consumers, a practice that raises citizen concerns
about privacy.

    The biggest complaint of consumers, though, is that there is
so much paper invading their homes. Over the course of a
lifetime, the average American professional will devote eight
entire months to sifting through mail solicitations. Third-class
mail is now a nearly 4 million-ton colossus that accounts for
39% of all U.S. postal volume. This year about 41 lbs. of junk
mail have been generated for each adult American. Of the pile
that reached mailboxes, an estimated 44% landed in trash cans,
unopened and unread. Many of the rejects were "prospecting
letters," mailings that fish for new clients and often hook only
a 2% response -- plenty, by industry standards, to justify the
flow.

    The prodigality leaves environmentalists seething about the
direct-mail bombardment, which consumes millions of trees each
year. Conservationists also fume that the discards amount to 3%
of the total clutter in the nation's landfills. And just how do
they try to enlist public support? By mail, of course. The
environmental watchdog organization Greenpeace USA sends more
than 25 million pieces annually. Earlier this year the
Environmental Defense Fund put out a direct-mail fund raiser (on
recycled paper) that offered, in exchange for membership, a copy
of the best-selling 50 Simple Things You Can Do to Save the
Earth. The book's No. 1 suggestion for planetary rescue is "Stop
junk mail!"

    The rallying cry is being taken up by federal and state
legislators who feel that the problems caused by direct mail are
multiplying out of control. A key concern is the alleged threat
to individual privacy, which many fear is infringed upon by the
direct marketers' aggressive collecting of trade information
about the finances and spending habits of potential customers.
Democratic Congressman Charles Schumer of New York plans to
resubmit a bill to Congress next year that aims to prohibit the
use of credit information for marketing purposes. At present,
many credit agencies tap into sensitive data to compile lists
that can then be rented by direct-mail marketers.

    The Deceptive Mailings Prevention Act of 1990, which was
signed this month by President Bush, bans mail solicitations
that masquerade as government notices and prey particularly upon
the fears of the elderly. Last January a New York State law went
into effect that barred retail stores from keeping records of
the addresses and phone numbers of customers who use credit
cards. The practice is intended to verify identifications, but
it is increasingly used to compile mailing lists, which are then
rented.

    Direct-mail practitioners counter that their product is the
solution, not the problem. Mail-order shopping helps the
environment, they argue, by keeping consumers out of cars,
saving gas and motor oil and reducing air pollution. On the
issue of privacy, they contend that direct mail is the least
intrusive way to reach consumers. "It's not like a commercial
where you have to wait a whole minute for the evening news to
continue, or a billboard that blocks the scenery, or the
telephone call that gets you out of the bathtub," says
copywriting maestro Bill Jayme of Sonoma, Calif. "If you're not
interested, you just throw it out." Says Denison Hatch,
publisher of the industry newsletter Who's Mailing What!: "Junk
mail is a good offer sent to the wrong person."

    Proponents contend that direct mail is the most efficient
way to organize and rally support for public causes. "How else
do you communicate with people?" asks Peter Bahouth, executive
director of Greenpeace USA. "For better or worse, it's the
lifeblood of the community." Advocates argue that direct mail
actually fosters democracy. "It is a very decentralizing force,"
says Roger Craver of Falls Church, Va., who raises money through
the mails for liberal causes. "In many ways, it has
revolutionized American politics.''

    Certainly it has revolutionized the way Americans conduct
business. Once upon a time, direct mail evoked only two names:
Montgomery Ward and Richard Sears. Ward, a Midwest traveling
salesman, had a simple idea: "Sell directly to the consumer and
save them the profit of the middleman." In 1872 he published a
one-page listing of 163 items, from red flannel cloth to
oilcloth table covers, and mail order as we know it today was
born. Fourteen years later, Sears, a Minnesota railroad-station
agent, decided to mail a few $12 watches to his peers for $14
apiece. When the ploy worked, Sears hooked up with a Chicago
watchmaker named A.C. Roebuck to establish a mail-order
business. By 1927 Sears, Roebuck was mailing 75 million letters
and catalogs.

    Over the next six decades, the explosion of merchandise
catalogs was so immense that competition from more specialized
retailers finally demolished one of its originators: in 1985
Montgomery Ward left the catalog business. Today's big sellers
include J.C. Penney, L.L. Bean, Lands' End and Sears. In 1989
Bean, the famous Maine purveyor of outdoor gear, took in almost
90% of its $600 million net sales from the 116 million catalogs
it mailed. Wisconsin's Lands' End sold $545 million worth of
clothing and domestic items last year through its 90 million
catalogs. "It's always fun to have them arriving at the door,"
says Lands' End president Richard Anderson. "It's like having
Christmas every day."

    But even the most tolerant consumer might feel like Scrooge
in the face of so much postal excess, no matter how worthy the
touted product or cause. Last year the Red Cross responded to
Hurricane Hugo and the San Francisco earthquake by mailing 12
million appeals, twice the organization's usual annual
outpouring. Disabled American Veterans sent 38.5 million
fund-raising pieces. In the case of some nonprofit
organizations, as much as 90% of all funds raised through mail
campaigns are applied to more mailings to raise more money.

    Even so, direct mailers maintain that junk mail is the most
cost-efficient way to reach out to customers. They claim that a
single mailing on average draws 10 times as many responses as
newspaper ads and 100 times as many as TV ads. Plus, they note,
they can judge the effectiveness of a mailing with far greater
precision than most other advertisers can.

    Small wonder so many advocacy groups turn to the mails.
Take the American Association for Retired People and the
National Rifle Association, two of the nation's most powerful
lobbies and, not by coincidence, two of the largest direct
mailers. In addition to the literature it sends its 32 million
members, the A.A.R.P. each year puts into the mail stream 50
million pieces simply prospecting for new adherents. The N.R.A.
generates up to 12 million pieces monthly. Each group has the
capacity to flood Capitol Hill with thousands of letters when
it feels its interests are threatened. Earlier this year the
N.R.A. sent out 10 million "membership alert" mailings, urging
gun owners to oppose legislation that sought to ban
semiautomatic assault weapons and impose a waiting period on the
purchase of handguns. Neither restriction passed Congress.

    Cynics might say such pitches know no better target, since
the Senate and House are two of the country's biggest users of
the mails. Through the franking privilege, which enables members
of Congress to use their signatures as postage, elected
officials can deluge voters with mail at taxpayers' expense.
During the past presidential election year, 805 million pieces
of political literature spewed from Capitol Hill, at a cost of
about $113 million.