THE STORY OF MONOPOLY, SlLLY PUTTY, BINGO, TWISTER, FRISSBEE, SCRABBLE, ETCETERA by Marvin Kaye
Authors: Marvin Kaye
Ads: Link
children in the aimed-for age range, from four to six years, to amass related toys. It was the same family marketing scheme that Mattel had used for Barbie.
But at Toy Fair, when thousands of buyers saw the new toy, only a few thought it a good bet.
Hasbro persisted. It advertised Joe on local TV shows in cooperation with area toy wholesalers. Chicago was one of the first places Joe was tried out; it was extremely successful there. Soon everywhere the doll appeared, little boys welcomed it with outstretched arms.
In his first two years, G.I. Joe brought Hasbro an astounding $35 to $40 million in revenues. “The appeal,” said Behling, “was very violent, I suppose, though I don’t think anyone has ever proved a cause-and-effect between war play and adult aggression. Personally, I don’t think playing with a toy gun harms a child. Maybe the outlet for aggression is a good thing.
“Anyway, it was evident that the most popular G.I. Joes were the more militant ones. The marine sold best, and after him, the soldier. Partly, I think, the things that you can create for a sailor doll are not as appealing—though our G.I. Joe frogmen sold very well.”
The aggression encouraged by the toy, the key to its appeal, also proved its nemesis. Public outrage against the war in Vietnam began to affect nearly every area of national life in the early nineteen-sixties, and one of the first businesses to come under attack was the war-toy industry. Spokesmen urged the buying public to steer away from playthings that glorified the taking of human life. The press took up the issue. A new edition of Dr. Benjamin Spock’s Baby and Child Care contained a controversial section condemning toy-gun play activity.
Toymakers tended to ignore the wave of protest, believing it would eventually die down. Antiwar toy protests had been voiced as far back as the First World War; the critics, fewer in number in those days, were ridiculed and forgotten. Furthermore, the lesson of the past showed that children crave military playthings whenever their society is at war.
Vietnam is probably the first war in history which caused large numbers of children to be denied war toys by their parents. The bottom dropped out of this business in the mid-sixties and has not—as of this writing—bounced back. Skeptics who think that Nixon’s long, tortuous grinding down of hostilities will revive the market for the tiny weaponry should note that, by 1972, sales of the Western pistol and holster set had revived. But the military and police toy market was still dead.
Why should a Western gun be a more desirable toy than a bazooka? Don’t both represent effective tools for the cancellation of life? There is one essential difference between the two: military firearms tend to be thought of as aggressive equipment, while the Western gun—redolent of a time of lawlessness and the need to protect one’s own—is a defensive implement. Having a toy six-shooter casts the child in the role of hero, assuming the responsibility of a simpler enforcement ethic. As Jack Schaefer’s memorable character Shane put it: “A gun is just a tool, as good—and as bad—as the man who carries it.”
At first, Hasbro was able to ignore the antiwar cries. But in the second half of 1966, G.I. Joe reorders suddenly stopped. Inventory piled up in the Pawtucket factory. Management at first thought the sales drop was only temporary. But the lack of reorders stretched into 1967, and the company began to get very nervous.
“In marketing terms,” said Merrill Hassenfeld, “G.I. Joe desperately needed repositioning. Parents had to view him as something more than a military figure, or else we’d face the inevitable—his retirement from the line.”
The firm might have cut its losses and scrapped G.I. Joe, but everyone at Hasbro felt the toy still performed a basic function in providing young boys with an acceptable form of doll play. So the question became: How can the military theme
But at Toy Fair, when thousands of buyers saw the new toy, only a few thought it a good bet.
Hasbro persisted. It advertised Joe on local TV shows in cooperation with area toy wholesalers. Chicago was one of the first places Joe was tried out; it was extremely successful there. Soon everywhere the doll appeared, little boys welcomed it with outstretched arms.
In his first two years, G.I. Joe brought Hasbro an astounding $35 to $40 million in revenues. “The appeal,” said Behling, “was very violent, I suppose, though I don’t think anyone has ever proved a cause-and-effect between war play and adult aggression. Personally, I don’t think playing with a toy gun harms a child. Maybe the outlet for aggression is a good thing.
“Anyway, it was evident that the most popular G.I. Joes were the more militant ones. The marine sold best, and after him, the soldier. Partly, I think, the things that you can create for a sailor doll are not as appealing—though our G.I. Joe frogmen sold very well.”
The aggression encouraged by the toy, the key to its appeal, also proved its nemesis. Public outrage against the war in Vietnam began to affect nearly every area of national life in the early nineteen-sixties, and one of the first businesses to come under attack was the war-toy industry. Spokesmen urged the buying public to steer away from playthings that glorified the taking of human life. The press took up the issue. A new edition of Dr. Benjamin Spock’s Baby and Child Care contained a controversial section condemning toy-gun play activity.
Toymakers tended to ignore the wave of protest, believing it would eventually die down. Antiwar toy protests had been voiced as far back as the First World War; the critics, fewer in number in those days, were ridiculed and forgotten. Furthermore, the lesson of the past showed that children crave military playthings whenever their society is at war.
Vietnam is probably the first war in history which caused large numbers of children to be denied war toys by their parents. The bottom dropped out of this business in the mid-sixties and has not—as of this writing—bounced back. Skeptics who think that Nixon’s long, tortuous grinding down of hostilities will revive the market for the tiny weaponry should note that, by 1972, sales of the Western pistol and holster set had revived. But the military and police toy market was still dead.
Why should a Western gun be a more desirable toy than a bazooka? Don’t both represent effective tools for the cancellation of life? There is one essential difference between the two: military firearms tend to be thought of as aggressive equipment, while the Western gun—redolent of a time of lawlessness and the need to protect one’s own—is a defensive implement. Having a toy six-shooter casts the child in the role of hero, assuming the responsibility of a simpler enforcement ethic. As Jack Schaefer’s memorable character Shane put it: “A gun is just a tool, as good—and as bad—as the man who carries it.”
At first, Hasbro was able to ignore the antiwar cries. But in the second half of 1966, G.I. Joe reorders suddenly stopped. Inventory piled up in the Pawtucket factory. Management at first thought the sales drop was only temporary. But the lack of reorders stretched into 1967, and the company began to get very nervous.
“In marketing terms,” said Merrill Hassenfeld, “G.I. Joe desperately needed repositioning. Parents had to view him as something more than a military figure, or else we’d face the inevitable—his retirement from the line.”
The firm might have cut its losses and scrapped G.I. Joe, but everyone at Hasbro felt the toy still performed a basic function in providing young boys with an acceptable form of doll play. So the question became: How can the military theme
Similar Books
