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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.
This page and its contents ©2008 Metropolitan News Company, Inc.
