Ted's p.o.v.
A major impetus for my poetry appreciation came from the unlikely source first known as Burma-Vita, then, finally, Burma-Shave. At the start of the company’s campaign, small signs on pine boards salvaged from barns carried conventional bromides, all in capital letters. Soon the messages appeared in catchy couplets proclaiming, for example, along one stretch of highway: “He played / a sax / had no B.O / but his whiskers scratched / so she let him go / Burma-Shave.”
It was an era when suppliers of other grooming accessories shouted in print about your body’s pungent aroma, crinkly skin and generally miserable appearance, according to “The Verse By the Side of the Road” by Frank Rowsome, Jr. Whimsical Burma-Shave signs provided a fetching counterpoint with the likes of: “The answer to / a maiden’s / prayer / is not a chin / of stubby hair. . .”
Alexander Woollcott once said that it’s as difficult to read one Burma-Shave sign as it is to eat just one salted peanut. The captivating ads proved addictive to entire families, truck drivers and, for a while, horses traveling the country’s roadways.
(Horses loved to scratch their backs on signs attached to 9-foot poles. They broke so many, though, the company installed 10-footers.)
The ad campaign boosted sales to the point where one company executive would later declare, “We never knew there was a depression.”
It all began with a liniment Clinton Odell developed in Minneapolis. With some modifications it became a brushless shaving cream, but American men clearly weren’t ready to forsake their strops and brushes even for concoctions from Burma. That was the prevailing mood until both men and women began reading and reciting the likes of: “His face was smooth / and cool as ice / And oh Louise! / he smelled / so nice. . .”
Odell’s son, Allan, who wrote most of the initial ads, could also skewer the competition at times, as in: “Beneath this stone / lies Elmer Gush / Tickled to death / by his / shaving brush. . .”
Electric razors also got their come-uppance. “A silky cheek / shaved smooth / and clean / is not obtained / with a mowing machine. . .”
My favorite? “Every shaver / now can snore / six more / minutes / than before. . .”
Some days it seemed most of America’s adults penned poetry after Burma Shave started a series of contests for the best jingles. As many as 50,000 entries arrived for a specific contest, vying for a $100 prize. Some were bad, some were bawdy, but the best succeeded like apple pan dowdy. One of the rejects said: “The other woman / in his life / said “Go back home / and scratch / your wife. . .”
The firm pioneered public service ads with “Keep well / to the right / of the oncoming car/ Get your close shaves / from the half-pound jar. . .” Or, “Past / schoolhouses / take it slow / Let the little / shavers grow. . .” Police chiefs and highway patrol administrators swore these and others like them reduced car accidents and injuries.
Farmers often reported broken signs and volunteered to replace them if the company sent new ones. You can imagine the consternation if a section was missing from: “If your peach / keeps out / of reach / better practice / what we preach. . .”
As speed limits increased so did the sign size from 12 to 18 inches high and to 40 inches wide. The distance between each sign increased from 100 to 150 feet, so motorists could see: “She put / a bullet / thru his hat / but he’s had / closer shaves than / that. . .”
When Philip Morris acquired Burma-Shave in 1963, the signs were soon phased out. There are still a few left today in the Smithsonian, including Allan Odell’s favorite: “Within this vale / of toil / and sin / your head grows bald / but not your chin. . .”
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