TIME: Almanac 1995

home *** CD-ROM | disk | FTP | other *** search

/ TIME: Almanac 1995 / TIME Almanac 1995.iso / time / 112690 / 1126200.000 < prev next >

Wrap

Text File | 1994-03-25 | 12.0 KB | 239 lines

<text id=90TT3163> <title> Nov. 26, 1990: Junk Mail:READ THIS!!!!!!!! </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990 Nov. 26, 1990 The Junk Mail Explosion! </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> BUSINESS, Page 62 COVER STORY READ THIS!!!!!!!! </hdr> <body> 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. </body> </article> </text>