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This is the first chapter of a Seven Part Series.

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His family having been wealthy and then losing it all on a stock speculation deal, Richard Warren Sears moved to Minneapolis to work as a railroad station agent.  While he was working that job, a jeweler refused shipment on an entire delivery of watches.  Proving the fact that timing is everything, Sears happened to be at the right place at the right time and bought the shipment of watches for cents on the dollar.  He then sold them to fellow station agents at a profit.

Inspired, he started the R. W. Sears Watch Company, selling watches via mail-order.  He soon met Alvah Curtis Roebuck, a watch repairman.  In 1887 partners Sears and Roebuck relocated the entire operation to Chicago and expanded the offerings to include watches, diamonds and jewelry.  Two years later, the profitable company was sold for $100,000 (over 3 million dollars in today’s money) and Sears relocated to Iowa where he planned to become a small town banker.

It has not been noted whether it was the banking business or Iowa that soured Sears on his new career, but two years later he was back in Chicago with Roebuck as his partner operating Sears & Roebuck operating  a mail order catalog with expanded offerings.  Again, timing was everything.  Free rural mail delivery revolutionized the way most of America purchased their belongings.

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No longer limited to what the local mom & pop store had on hand and forced to pay whatever inflated prices those items sold for, Sear & Roebuck offered an alternative.  By 1894 the catalog had expanded to 322 pages.  The next year that number swelled to 532 pages.  Every one of those pages was filled with everything from bicycles to sewing machines.  From 1905 to 1915, people could even purchase a car through the catalog.  From 1908 to 1942 pre-cut kits for entire homes could be ordered and delivered.

Sears was where America shopped.

In 1956 consumer retail was revolutionized by the construction of Southdale Centre in Edina, Minnesota.  The first of its kind, the huge retail complex offered spacious well lit stores and restaurants, public spaces, art displays and close parking, all indoors.  Poor weather was no longer an excuse to not get out and shop.  The Mall would soon reign over all other types of retail.  Sears would be King of the Mall.

Fast forward to 1960.

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Inside the paneled offices of the Sears Headquarters in a red brick complex in North Lawndale in Chicago, middle aged men in cheap suits are brainstorming the next catalog.  Just breathing the cigar smoke in the room would be equivalent to smoking a pack of non-filtered Camels.  Everything in the room looked like it came from the company catalog, because it did.  It also smelled like it had been on fire for reasons mentioned above.

The men (and it was all men) sitting around the table were not dissimilar to those of General Motors, Ford, IBM, or any of the other major corporations that made up the Fortune 500.  White.  Middle to upper aged.  Slightly overweight.  And drunk on their own success.  General Motors owned the car business.  IBM owned business machines and computing.  Sears owned retail.  It had been that way for decades.  Most folks thought it would never change.

“We need something big for this catalog,” C.H. Kellstadt said.  “Something that’ll make people go out of their way to pick it up and read it cover to cover.”

“They already do,” T.J. Max said.  “That’s what has made us the biggest damn retailer in the world!”  Everyone around the table laughed.  T.J. could crack up a group of grieving nuns.

Even Kellstadt smirked, which was about all he was ever inclined to do.  “You’re not thinking outside the box.  If we’re going to continue to grow, we have to remain aggressive.  Until there is one of these damn big malls in every town in America, we have to keep people coming back to this catalog for everything they need, year after year.”  The group was listening intently, or at least trying to appear as though they were.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s socks or jocks, tools or toys, America needs to buy it from Sears!”  That’s why he was the Big Boss.

“Hows about we feature naked women?”  Monty Ward said.  “That’ll keep the men coming back!”

Again, Kellstadt snickered.  But then he had a thought.  “You may be on to something there, Ward.”

“We can’t really put naked women in the catalog,” Ward replied.

“No, but we have a lingerie section.  I want those pages expanded.  I want bras prominently featured.  The models need to be well endowed.  I want to personally attend the photo shoots for that section.”  Kellstadt was on a roll.  “I want fathers to be fighting their teenage sons for first rights for that Fall 1960 catalog when it comes out!”  

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Buster Chestman was writing down notes as fast as he could.  He was in charge of Lingerie and Lawn Mowers.  Sole responsibility for this added emphasis would fall on his shoulders.  He knew he’d have to strap it on and run with it.

It was about then that Todd Targett spoke up.  Targett was the kind of exec that would not say much for most of a meeting and then circle around towards the end with an idea that would hit the bullseye.  He got right to the point.  “Let’s give away a car.  Put an entry form at the back of the catalog that folks can send in with their order.  Encourage them to buy something, dangle a shiny toy in front of them to dream about.  Maybe a convertible.  A big red convertible!”

Kellstadt broke out into a wide smile and actually laughed.  That rarely happened.  “You’re a damn genius!  I like it!  I don’t know why the rest of you can’t think as big as Targett here.  You other clowns seem to always seem to miss the mark.”

“Kaye, get in here!” Kellstadt yelled.  Kaye Martz was his personal secretary.

Miss Martz walked in, steno pad in her hand, a twinkle in her eye.  “Yes Sir?”

“I want you to find out what the most popular convertible sold in America was last year.  Get me that information fast!”  Kellstadt said.

It took several phone calls and about an hour and a half before she came back into the room with the figures.  “Chevrolet sold 72,765 Impala convertibles in 1959.  That was more than anyone else.”  She was as good at what she did as she was filling out a cashmere sweater.  “Ford was number two with 45,868 Sunliners and 12,915 Skyliners.  You know, the one where the top goes down into the trunk.”  When she said that it almost looked like she was turning around with her backside pointed at the assembled group.

“Well I am damn sure not going to give away a Chevrolet Impala convertible.  That bastard, Fred Donner, the CEO of GM, took me for $200 on the golf course when I was in Detroit last year.”  Kellstadt almost looked embarrassed to admit it.  “We’ll give away a Ford Sunliner.”

At the weekly meeting the following week, Chestman had the full spread for the lingerie section of the 1960 catalog blown up into 24 X 36 posters and placed on Craftsman easels that lined the entire conference room.  The executives wandered around the big table, admiring the fine work of the in-house photographer and the more than ample models.

Carl Allstate from accounting, Ken Diehard from Auto Parts, and Kellstadt walked around the room gazing at the girls.  “I’d like to get a little of this one,” Carl said as he pointed to one of the more buxom beauties from the bra page.

“She’d probably be willing!” Kellstadt said.  “But I’ll bet she’d give Kenmore!”  Everybody laughed because he was the boss.

Once the ogling was over with, the only other business at hand was to get the Ford Sunliner approved to be purchased for the Big Contest.  Targett had the paperwork with him, as well as the Ford brochure.  “I figure we get it in Monte Carlo Red.  Get it fully loaded.  Really make it an object of desire,” he said, “just like the lingerie page!”  Several of the other executives glanced over their shoulders back at the posters at those words.  “The red will really ‘pop’ in the catalog.”

“We’re not spending a dime more than we have to on the car,” Kellstadt said.  The Monte Carlo Red is fine, as long as it doesn’t cost any more.  Otherwise, I want that thing stripped bare.”  A couple executives glanced back again.

“But the business this will generate will be a thousand times more than what the car costs,” Targett said.  “Why not gussy it up?’

“Do you know what it cost us for those new lingerie models?  That’s where we put our ‘gussy-up budget’.  It cost us an extra four bucks an hour for those girls to take that much off and allow us to be in there for the shoot.  That’s what we shot our wad on.”  Chestman looked at the poster of the girdle page and smirked.  “There’s nothing left in the budget for a car we’re just going to give away.  Strip it down!”  There were snickers at the end of the table.

“What about full wheel covers?  Those will be seen in the catalog,” Targett said.

“Okay.  Nice wheel covers.  But no power.  No automatic transmission.”  Kellstadt slammed his hand down on the table for emphasis, the sign of absolute leadership.  It startled Chestman who spilled his coffee, some of it getting on the order form Targett was working on.  The ink ran from the box that had been marked “Mileage Maker Six Engine” to the one below that said “292 V-8”.

That’s how a beautiful version of the second most popular convertible sold in America with a three-on-the-tree transmission and no factory options came to be given away by the Sears and Roebuck Company, the largest retailer in the world.. 

Of course, as with any car worth its weight in drama, that’s not where the story ended.

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