EARL!
Chapter 6 - "WACKY PROMOTIONS"
When you’re in the
promotional business, it’s important that you never stop giving your customers
new things to get excited about. You’ve got to somehow capture their interest,
and make them feel like they don’t dare miss your next event. Sometimes,
you’ve got to be a little different, a little bit radical, and a little bit
off the wall.
Plus, I like to have
fun. So it was only natural that not long after I got going at Eldora I was
trying different things to keep building the crowd.
There are two kinds of promotions:
One is the event itself, where you’re presenting a race like nobody has seen
before. The World 100 was different because of the purse, and the fact that it
was the biggest race ever for late models. The Kings Royal was different because
of the big payoff, $50,000 to the winner. The other kind of promotion is stuff
you do outside the racing, maybe a giveaway of some kind or a special show.
Both are important, and it’s good
to mix ’em up a little bit. It doesn’t hurt to get a little bit wacky now
and then, either.
Of course, there are no guarantees
that a promotion will actually make you money. Sometimes you’ll come up with
an idea that you’re just sure is going to be big, and it falls flat. My “new
car giveaway” promotion was one of those ideas.
This was in Eldora’s early days.
Most of our racers were local, and we drew our crowd from an area pretty close
to the track. They were loyal fans, and they came almost every time we raced. So
I figured I’d give ’em something to get excited about. How about giving away
some new cars?
I went out and bought four new
vehicles, two Chevrolets and two Fords. I rounded up two big barrels, and told
all our fans to put their ticket stub in the barrel. The plan was to draw a
ticket, and if you’re present that night, you’ll win a brand new car.
Russ Condon tried to talk me out of
the promotion. “Aw, we’ll be fine,” I told him. “We’ll have people
lined up all around the race track!” Well, we didn’t. We had a smaller crowd
than usual that first week, which really shocked me. But we did the drawing
anyway, and a guy from
It couldn’t have worked out any
worse. Come to find out, the fellow who won, along with his wife, had been
trying to buy a new car at that same dealership. They were waiting on financing
approval, but since he won the car, he went to the dealership with the paperwork
and picked up the prize vehicle. He drove home and proudly showed his wife the
new car. She got madder than hell because she thought he had bought the car
without asking her first.
“But honey,” the man said, “I
won the car at Eldora!”
She didn’t believe him, and was
getting madder and madder.
It turned into a big fight, and can
you believe this: They both blamed me! Plus, the dealer called and gave me hell
because I had cost him a sale.
So it wasn’t going all that rosy
the first week, let me tell you.
The following week the gate was even
smaller. I don’t know why it was happening, but I could have cried. I was
doing the announcing, and I realized maybe people thought the contest was
rigged. We had our drawing again, and pulled the ticket out, and the person was
present. The guy went down and picked out a Chevy, so now I’m down to two cars
to give away.
The third week, the crowd was down
again. Then the drivers started getting on my ass. “Your fans are making more
money than we are,” they complained. “If you can afford to give away new
cars, you can damn sure afford to increase the purse!” They were all over me.
That’s what sparked the strike when I threatened to run over their cars with
the bulldozer.
Everything was going backward.
Instead of making more money, I was losing money. Instead of everyone being
happy, everybody was mad.
I think maybe people figured that
the prize was too big for the contest not to be rigged. When both the crowd and
the concessions were down after that third week, and the drivers were asking to
meet with me after the races, I threw in the towel. I decided not to give away
the fourth car, and instead held it back until the end of the season, when we
had a different promotion and gave it away.
Boy, that promotion was a loser for
sure.
Another promotion in those early
years was our wheelbarrow race. We put up a $500 prize for the couple who could
win a wheelbarrow race around Eldora. The gal riding in the wheelbarrow, and the
fellow pushing. The idea was to have some fun, and get people excited to
participate, plus draw people to come watch the action.
I had to write up some rules. We
outlawed dual wheels on the wheelbarrow, and we put up some age and weight
restrictions. I didn’t want some big he-man wheeling some tiny gal, because
that wouldn’t be fair. You could wheel your wife in the wheelbarrow, or if you
weren’t married you could choose anybody you wanted.
The folks around here get pretty
motivated for $500. We had all kinds of interest after we ran our advertisement
a couple of weeks before the race. The $500 prize was on everybody’s mind. The
days before the race, you had to be on your toes if you were driving around St.
Henry or Coldwater, because you’d round a bend in the road and there was some
dude running along with his wife in the wheelbarrow, practicing. It’s a wonder
nobody got ran over.
We wound up with a whole mess of
people entered in the race, and it turned out to be a lot of fun, but it was
sure wild. We were lucky that nobody fell and got hurt.
It would be impossible to do things
like the wheelbarrow race today, because of liability.
I can take credit for a few of the
ideas, but I’d have to give credit—or blame, depending on how you look at
it—for some of the stunts to my ace PR man, Blaire Ratliff.
Blaire had a brilliant mind for PR,
and working with people. He lived in
He was hard to work with because of
his drinking. Blaire was great at PR, but he might go off on a drinking binge
and we wouldn’t see him for several days. He might schedule a press luncheon
or dinner and not show up, and the press would get madder than hell at him.
Blaire was just a happy-go-lucky
person who lived his life having fun. You couldn’t stay mad at him, because he
was such a charming person, and a genuine nice guy. I remember once when Tom
Hammond, a TV guy in
“Blaire, why are you crying?”
Tom asked.
“Aw,” Blaire sobbed, “last
Christmas I bought you a sweater, and I ain’t seen you wear it yet!”
Tom just laughed out loud, shook his
head, and said, “Aw, Blaire, what in the hell do you want?”
And that’s how Blaire worked. Even
when he got into trouble, he could always charm his way out.
Blaire was one of the most natural,
creative salesmen I’ve ever seen. With Blaire, there was no telling what wild,
wacky idea he was going to line up next. A lot of times he didn’t even ask me
first; I heard about the idea when he announced it to the public.
That’s how it was with our
“Tiger in Your Tank” promotion. I picked up the newspaper and saw our ad—a
really big ad—with a picture of a tiger. “Eldora Speedway, next Saturday
night, win either 500 gallons of free gas or a live tiger!”
The contest was a play on the slogan
used by one of the oil companies at the time, and Blaire figured it would give
us some extra attention. I read the ad and thought, “A live tiger? What’s
Blaire up to?”
I called him and asked, “What’s
going on here? Do you really have a tiger? I know you’ve pulled some shady
ones before, but a tiger?”
He said yes, he had a tiger.
“Where’d you get it?”
“Well, I don’t actually have it
yet, but it’s not a problem. I’ll get one from the zoo. The man there will
let us put his tiger on display.”
A few days passed, and I was getting
nervous. I called Blaire.
“Yep!” he said. “Don’t
worry, Earl, it’s coming! We’ll have a tiger, just like I promised.”
People were teasing me when I’d
see them in town. “You ain’t gonna have no live tiger there!” they’d
say. “Yes, the man said we’d have a tiger,” I’d insist. “He’s gonna
bring it over!”
We got down to Friday, and I was
calling Blaire every day. “People are talking about that tiger,” I kept
telling him. “They’d really like to see it. You’ve got to make sure we get
it here.”
“Don’t worry, Earl,” he kept
saying. “I’ll have the tiger there.”
Saturday night’s crowd was huge.
Omar Williams and Tom Hammond, both big television broadcasters in
I kept watching the parking
lot, waiting for Blaire to come in, or a truck from the zoo. The program got
underway, and the cars had hot lapped and qualified. Still no sign of Blaire, or
the tiger.
Omar was doing the announcing, and I
finally told him, “I’ve got a problem.”
“What is it?” he said. “Is it
about the tiger? Did Blaire get the tiger lined up?”
“I know damned well he didn’t
get a tiger,” I admitted. “I suspect he’s laid up drunk someplace, because
he hasn’t shown up tonight. How am I going to get out of this?”
We had hundreds of people milling
around, wanting to see the tiger. They were starting to get loud, and mad.
“I’ll handle it,” said Omar.
“I’m not even going to ask you
how, but if you can help me out that would be great. I’m afraid we’re going
to have a riot!”
Omar got on the microphone. He was
really well-liked and respected in our area, and people listened to him.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he
began. “I want to explain something to you about the tiger. We will indeed
have a drawing for tonight’s famous prize, which will be held right after the
races have concluded. So sit tight and enjoy tonight’s racing, and we’ll
name the lucky winner after the final race of the night.”
We went through all the races, and I
kept watching for Blaire. But there was still no sign of him, and certainly
nothing that looked like a tiger. I was getting desperate. Finally the races
were finished, but nobody left. They started yelling that they wanted to see the
tiger.
We drew a number, and a fellow with
the winning ticket came forward. He had two small kids with him, holding his
hand. I’m kind of standing in the background, watching, a nervous wreck.
Omar came down and checked the
ticket, and yes, it was the winner. Omar turned to the man and began talking.
“You know, a tiger is an awful lot
of upkeep. You have to get a cage…well, we were trying to borrow one but we
were not able to. And the tiger is actually very ill. He’s sick, in the animal
hospital right now. You’d be much better off taking the gasoline, wouldn’t
you agree?”
The man nodded his head, and said,
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
But the little girl at his side
spoke up.
“Aw, daddy, we don’t want any
gas! We want the tiger!”
The man looked at Omar, and said
kind of sheepishly, “Aw, yeah, we want the tiger! We want to play with the
tiger!”
I walked over, and kind of lowered
my voice to the man, almost shoving the papers for the gasoline in his hand.
“Now, sir, you have to realize,
the tiger is really sick. He’s got one eye seeping to beat hell, and his
tongue is discolored, and we don’t know if he’s going to make it. In fact,
his disease might be contagious to humans. And did I tell you that they don’t
expect the tiger to live very long? He’s awfully sick.”
“Is that right? Well, we better
take the gas, then.”
The little girl cried out again.
“Oh, daddy, we want the tiger! We
want the tiger!”
“Aw,” he said, turning back to
look at me, “I can’t disappoint the kids. I guess we’ll take the tiger.
Even if he only lives a couple of days, what the hell, at least the kids would
have fun with him for a little while.”
I thought we were dead, right there.
The crowd was yelling and hollering, and the man wanted the tiger. Omar and I
looked at each other, completely lost.
Then Omar had an idea.
“That would be fine, sir, taking
the tiger,” he said. “A fine choice. However, keep in mind that you’ll
need to make arrangements for a cage before you can actually remove the tiger to
your home. So you’ll have to come back tomorrow and pick the tiger up, after
it is released from the animal hospital. Of course, we can give you the gasoline
certificates tonight, if you choose that option.”
You could start to see some doubts
in the guy’s eyes.
“One other thing,” I spoke up.
“You’ll have to go to the county health department and get a wild animal
permit, too. You aren’t allowed to keep a tiger in your house unless you’ve
got a tiger license. They won’t open till Monday morning, and we can’t let
you have the tiger until the proper paperwork is in place.
“And all of this is at your
expense, of course. The cage, the permits, that isn’t included in the
prize.”
You could almost see the wheels in
his mind turning as he thought it over.
“Wonder how much a tiger license
is?” he asked.
“Real damned expensive,” I said.
He was quiet for a moment.
“Well, we better take that gas.
Where are those papers?”
I had the papers in his hand in a
blink of an eye, and before he could change his mind Omar said, “Goodnight,
everyone! Come back next week to Eldora Speedway!”
As he led the kids away, they were
crying about not getting the tiger. Omar and I just looked at each other, little
drops of cold sweat all over our faces.
Next time I saw Blaire, I was
furious.
“You bastard!” I yelled. “You
almost got me killed!”
“What do you mean?”
“That damned tiger deal! We almost
had a riot!”
He just leaned his head back and
laughed.
“Oh, that,” he said. “I forgot
all about that…”
You could get awfully mad at Blaire.
But no matter what, I could never stay mad at him very long. He was just too
damned likable.
Blaire knew more people than any man
I’ve known. All the press, all the top television people, government people,
he knew ’em all. We’d go places together, places where you needed a special
pass, and Blaire would walk right in. He knew everybody, and everybody knew him.
He knew how to influence the right
people, especially in the media. He’d walk into the newsroom at the paper, or
the office at a television station, and he’d be carrying a couple of boxes of
candy. He’d see the person he wanted, and say, “Here, catch!” and toss
’em the box of candy. You weren’t supposed to do that kind of thing, and I
gave him hell one time that he was going to get into trouble for giving gifts to
people. It might look like bribery.
“I’ve never given to anyone,”
he answered. “That was for everybody to share.”
Another of Blaire’s great ideas
was the ostrich race.
Luckily, this was before I was at
“You do shows, don’t you?” he
asked the man.
“Yeah, but I’ve got to be with
the ostriches at all times,” he said.
Blaire explained that he wanted to
do a promotion, and we could get it on the radio and television, which would
help him publicize the ostriches. They’d have the ostrich “race” at Dayton
Speedway on the same day as one of their racing events. They wouldn’t really
race, of course, because they’re too damned wild. He just figured the man
could lead them around the track so everyone could see ’em.
So they made the arrangements, and
Blaire set about trying to promote the deal. He knew every bar in town, so
that’s where he started. He chose four or five of the busiest bars, and talked
up the promotion to the manager or the owner, “How about if I bring some
excitement in here for you?” The idea was to bring the ostriches around on
Saturday night before our Sunday race. Everybody thought it would be great.
Blaire put flyers and posters all
over town: “OSTRICH RACES - DAYTON SPEEDWAY.” The flyer also listed the bars
the ostriches would visit on Saturday night.
The weekend finally came, and the
handler and Blaire hauled the animals to the first bar on the “tour.” They
took one of the ostriches inside and paraded him around. When the people
realized that we were actually bringing the ostrich inside the bar, they were
really excited, calling their friends. Pretty soon the phones were buzzing, with
people trying to figure out which bar they were going to next. They didn’t
want to miss the excitement.
As they left the first bar, people
ran outside to their cars and fell in behind Blaire. Right away, he had a
helluva caravan going. A cop tailed in behind him, and eventually pulled him
over.
“Where’s everybody going?” the
cop asked.
Blaire explained that this was the
famous ostrich tour for Dayton Speedway and that he was going to the next stop.
“Well, I guess you’re not
breaking any laws,” the cop said grudgingly. “Just be careful, and don’t
let this get out of hand.”
He came to the next bar, which had
just recently been remodeled. It was a real nice place, just beautiful, with a
big mirror installed behind the bar. Blaire and the man went inside—of course,
Blaire knew the manager and bartender real well—and asked, “Do you mind if I
bring the show inside?” They said that would be fine. He didn’t tell them he
was actually bringing an ostrich inside.
The bar was almost full from the
regular Saturday night crowd, plus a big crowd from the caravan. In just a
minute the place was packed.
Here came Blaire and the man,
leading the ostrich by a leash. The crowd cheered and yelled and clapped,
because an ostrich looks pretty unusual in a bar. That isn’t something you see
every day. They were walking along in front of the bar, and the ostrich was
looking around.
The ostrich looked to his right, and
saw his reflection in the big mirror.
Ostriches must not like their
reflection.
The thing just went wild, absolutely
wild. Now, an ostrich is pretty heavy, and damned strong. Blaire tried to hang
on to the leash, but the ostrich just dragged him like a little doll. The
ostrich leaped over the bar, knocking everything over within range.
All of this commotion really spooked
that big crowd. People were roaring toward the exits, damn near running over
each other. Stuff was flying through the air, tables were knocked over, and it
was total chaos. One man ran into a table and hurt his leg, and everybody was
yelling and screaming, which probably didn’t help calm the ostrich.
By the time they got the ostrich
back under control and settled down, every liquor bottle stacked up behind the
bar was broken. Talk about a helluva mess. That had sure been a nice bar.
Blaire figured at that point that
although the tour was scheduled to stop at several more bars, maybe he should
just cut it off right there. Probably not a bad idea.
Turns out they got so much publicity, the show at Dayton Speedway the next day was really big. Everybody in town was there to see the famous ostriches that had terrorized the bar the night before. Some of the people might have even been wearing bandages, I’m not sure.