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Klockwork:
Will the Fool Born Every Minute Take the Bait?

By Joe Klock

Here’s to another bite of the rotting apple.

The late P.T. Barnum is most often identified as the source of a familiar aphorism, “There’s a sucker born every minute.”

Actually, the true origin of that phrase is unknown, having also been attributed to the distinguished likes of author Rudyard Kipling, economist Milton Friedman and wordworker William Safire, as well as any number of pyramid promoters.

Proof of the wisdom behind those words, by whomever first uttered, are the legions of patsies who daily piddle away their money on lotteries and other “get-rich-quick” schemes, bucking the equally profound (albeit less grammatically valid) truism that “there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.”

Aside on Barnum: Born into the shop-keeping trade, he sidelined as a lottery promoter at age 15 and failed in both ventures, eventually moving on to journalism (along with a brief hiatus in the slammer for libel).

At 25, he entered show biz by purchasing a blind and elderly black slave woman whom he billed as the 160-year-old nursemaid of George Washington.

An autopsy placed her true age at about 80, but P.T. rebounded with the discovery of “General” Tom Thumb, the true celebrity of “Swedish Nightingale” Jenny Lind, the exploitation of genuinely Siamese and conjoined twins, Chang and Eng, plus a legion of physically-challenged sideshows.

Eventually, he founded “The Greatest Show On Earth,” featuring Jumbo, the huge African elephant whose name became synonymous with super-bigness. After he (the pachyderm, that is) was killed by a locomotive, Barnum had him stuffed and preserved in stardom at a New York museum.

Where were we? Oh, yes, discussing the kind of “phlim-phlam-phollies” for which Barnum became famous for and of which unwitting patsies are victims to this very day.

Among the more pervasive of these shell games is the “devil in the details” of attractive advertising offers, appearing to promise sure-fire wealth, lifelong health, wrinkle-free aging, giveaway financing and the sexual prowess of a rutting bull moose.

The more elderly of readers will recall the popularity of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound and Carter’s Little Liver Pills. Pinkham’s compound was relied upon by women of yore as relief from their “monthly discomfort” (said relief in large part attributable to a generous lacing of alcohol). The latter, a laxative product, had zero involvement with one’s liver and owed its effectiveness to the recommended ingestion of eight glasses of water daily.

Then there was the cough remedy slogan, “Remember, ladies, Smith Brothers are soothing; take one to bed with you.” (Okay, okay, so I made that one up, but the others are verifiable.)

Political speeches are, of course, archetypical examples of subterfuge, but we’ll spare you a litany of these since you’ll be overwhelmed by them for the balance of this year.

Instead, we’ll settle for a citation of two current examples of the dark art — one in print and the other on the air waves.

Frequently occupying full pages in our local metropolitan daily are tantalizing headlines about how to acquire Midas-sized monies in real estate, securities, currency trading and other exotic adventures non-indigenous to the lives of ordinary working stiffs, retirees and sugarplum dreamers.

Similar rainbows are portrayed in other “pie-in-the-sky” ads, which share the common characteristic of disclaimers being displayed in type sizes more suitable for the heads of pins and clearly designed to be overlooked by pinheads who still believe in that aforementioned free lunch and the elusive Tooth Fairy.

Elsewhere are those staccato speeches at the very end of commercials on radio and TV which renege on most of the promises contained in the preceding sales pitches. These pronouncements are typically delivered at a velocity that would make an auctioneer’s chant sound like a funeral dirge.

Oh, and there’s that “fine print” in debt instruments, credit card rules and other “just sign here” documents that have the potential power to bite you in the assets at a later date.

The bottom lines of this rant are two: First, it should be required that ALL terms of an offer be represented in readable type and/or understandable speech.

Second, whenever you encounter a deal that looks too good to be true, it probably is. And when you can’t figure out who the patsy is in the game you’re playing, it’s almost surely you-know-who, the latest arrival in a continuing population explosion of suckers.


Freelance wordworker Joe Klock (joeklock@aol.com) is a winter Floridian who summers in New Hampshire. More of his “Klockwork,” is available at www.joeklock.com.

 

 

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