Tucker Takes Manhattan
For many New Yorkers, the love affair with the Tucker began with an article that ran in The New York Times on October 3, 1946. The piece, headlined “The ‘Torpedo’ Car Expected to Make Debut Next Year,” grabbed the attention of Big Apple motorists with a three-column wide photo of an ultramodern sedan.
Much of the national coverage the “Torpedo” received that year, such as the well-known Science Illustrated feature, emphasized the mechanics of the car. However, the NYT piece devoted the majority of its copy to information regarding the stock offering and Tucker’s corporate assets. This was undoubtedly intended to resonate with New York readers whose pulse was known to grow rapid more readily over the rhythm of ticker tape than the rumble of an auto’s engine.
But while the hearts of Wall Street wizards and auto aficionados alike were indeed captured, all that glittered wasn’t what it appeared to be in the most popular newspaper of the city whose streets were said to be paved with gold.
In fact, the photo — a three-quarter rear view of a car on a tree-lined street — was not a “Torpedo” at all. It was actually a one-quarter size clay model of the avant-garde George Lawson design. It was a stunner, forgery notwithstanding: meticulously detailed, photographed against a bucolic background, and so skillfully airbrushed that not even the savviest of the “Old Gray Lady’s” readers could have been the wiser. Positioned on the printed page, the handsome, white-walled, futuristic auto looked quite at home on the “streets” of suburbia. And concerning the news of the impending IPO, production models being ready for testing and demonstration by January 1 of 1947, and the details of the plant lease agreement? Well, history would prove those paragraphs to be dubious as well.
Ad-ing It Up
The firm of New York ad legend Roy S. Durstine was hired by the Tucker Corporation in February 1947 to head their advertising and media relations efforts. Durstine and company made quick work to both counteract the negative press Tucker had recently received regarding the SEC’s Stop Order and to reignite the interest of the car-buying public. The March 2nd Sunday editions of both The New York Times and The New York Herald featured splashy, full-page ads with illustrations of the Alex Tremulis-designed “Tucker ’48.” New Yorkers were rapt once again.
Soon after the ads ran, Durstine’s hands would be tied by the SEC’s rules against conventional advertising during stock registration and sale periods. But if anyone could dream up novel ways to showcase the Tucker, it was seasoned auto-industry publicity guru Ellis Travers who was now a VP at Durstine in charge of the account out of the firm’s newly established Chicago branch.
The much-delayed stock sale was finally approved on July 15, 1947, and pressure was on to push shares. Based on the wild success of the world premiere of the prototype nearly a month prior, the Tucker publicity machine — directed largely by Durstine and Travers — decided to execute a full-scale tour for the Tin Goose. This series of demonstrations and personal appearances by Preston Tucker had the power to generate stock sales, public excitement, and media coverage that traditional advertising alone did not.
It was with some irony that the prototype was not driven over the pavement during this whirlwind “roadshow,” but was transported by means of a Conestoga freight plane. A plane that eventually met a “victim of circumstances” fate completely befitting the Tucker saga: a crash in the mud due to a botched emergency landing during a storm.
During the summer of 1947, the demonstrations brought thousands of curious onlookers and prospective buyers of cars, accessories, and dealerships to exhibition halls in cities all across the country (and, with the help of the Conestoga, trips to Canada and Cuba). However, public interest in the stock was not as robust as Tucker executives had hoped due, in part, by regulatory stymieing. One of the best-attended showings occurred at Los Angeles’ Pan-Pacific Auditorium, where again circumstances proved unfortunate for Tucker as the sale of his corporation’s stock was indeed banned in California.
But New York offered Tucker Corp the perfect storm for success: a population keen on contemporary style and big on brokerage accounts as well as a major media market. As such, New York — the financial and news capital of the world — was the location of the greatest exhibitions of the Tin Goose where and when stock could be bought.
The Tin Goose Goes to Gotham
Two days after the approval of the stock sale, the Tin Goose made a brief showing in the Big Apple. It was displayed in the grand ballroom of the Commodore Hotel (now the Grand Hyatt), a luxury hotel connected to the bustling Grand Central Terminal. The New York Times reported on July 18 that “crowds of motor enthusiasts” attended the event, though exact numbers were not given. It also stated that Preston Tucker was presented with a “certificate of merit” at the reception by the New York Museum of Science and Industry for his achievement in the automotive field. (Sidenote: The Commodore Hotel was named for one of history’s most successful transportation entrepreneurs “Commodore” Cornelius Vanderbuilt.)
Consequently, The New York Museum of Science and Industry invited Mr. Tucker and the Tin Goose for an extended exhibition at the Museum the following month. The now-defunct tourist attraction was located at the alluring Art Deco skyscraper at 30 Rockefeller Plaza from the time Nelson A. Rockefeller became a Museum Trustee in 1935 to its closing in 1949.
The ad for August’s Tucker appearance at The Museum of Science and Industry promised the public a chance to view the technology they had read and heard about in the press, along with a few Tucker Corp marketing tricks not usually associated with science or industry: models from NYC’s famed Conover Agency (owner Harry Conover coined the phrase “Cover Girl”) and a revolving stage.
The August 8 edition of The New York Times offered a rousing review of the previous day’s opening festivities at the Museum, reporting a daily attendance at 15,000. For perspective, historical records state the Museum averaged just over 9,500 visitors per week at its peak. And the crowds never let up. According to the book The Indomitable Tin Goose, the Museum of Science and Industry enjoyed 100,000 total paid admissions for the 10-day run of the Tucker exhibit which meant attendance and receipts surpassed even the most popular Broadway shows over the same time stretch.
Among the novel highlights of the exhibit mentioned in the NYT was a “talking chassis where features of the car were explained through electrical sound devices.” Additionally, visitors were treated to motion pictures of the Tucker being driven around the Chicago factory. The latter was, no doubt, a clever attempt to showcase The ad for August’s Tucker appearance at The Museum of Science and Industry promised the public a chance to view the technology they had read and heard about in the press, along with a few Tucker Corp marketing tricks not usually associated with science or industry: models from NYC’s famed Conover Agency (owner Harry Conover coined the phrase “Cover Girl”) and a revolving stage.
The August 8 edition of The New York Times offered a rousing review of the previous day’s opening festivities at the Museum, reporting a daily attendance at 15,000. For perspective, historical records state the Museum averaged just over 9,500 visitors per week at its peak. And the crowds never let up. According to the book The Indomitable Tin Goose, the Museum of Science and Industry enjoyed 100,000 total paid admissions for the 10-day run of the Tucker exhibit which meant attendance and receipts surpassed even the most popular Broadway shows over the same time stretch.
Among the novel highlights of the exhibit mentioned in the NYT was a “talking chassis where features of the car were explained through electrical sound devices.” Additionally, visitors were treated to motion pictures of the Tucker being driven around the Chicago factory. The latter was, no doubt, a clever attempt to showcase both the car and the impressive enormity of the plant.
Steering (Gossip) Columns
The Museum exhibit and the resulting press coverage weren’t all about the “Car of Tomorrow.” In NY’s glossy magazines, style often trumps substance. And the Tucker demonstration packed style in spades. Nothing proved that more than the two-column recap of the exhibition that ran in the August 16, 1947 issue of The New Yorker magazine. As part of its “Talk of the Town” feature, a society column, attention was placed firmly on the more fabulous aspects of the premiere.
Despite the fact that the event was held at one of the country’s most popular venues for the showcasing of modern marvels of science, the column eschewed physics for physiques, specifically those of the models: how they looked while “affectionately patting” the luggage and “uncomprehendingly” viewing the engine. Also mentioned, at length, was Mr. Tucker’s choice of wardrobe, his blasting of the Golden State (“…I’ve taken a writ of mandamus against California.”), and the unintentionally humorous misspellings and malapropisms contained in the “164,000 Unsolicited Letters from Two Newspaper Ads in 26 Cities” (this claim was according to the Tucker Corp’s placard on a mail bin that accompanied the exhibit). But that kind of biting is par for the course in New York social journalism, even today.
While it wasn’t always the case for Tucker, the buzz around the prototype in NY was all GOOD publicity. The Museum of Science and Industry exhibit was a victory for Durstine, Travers and the other demonstration organizers. The people and the press of New York were atwitter with all things Tucker.
But, reminiscent of the NYT story of 1946, New Yorkers had once again fallen for a bit smoke-and-mirrors courtesy of Tucker Corp. Although Preston Tucker himself made it very clear during his visit to New York that production had not yet begun on the Tucker sedan, it didn’t seem to matter to the thousands who clamored for a glimpse of the Tin Goose. The public filled the halls from opening until close. The chassis “talked,” and nobody walked.
It was August of 1947. Exactly 65 years ago this month. And New Yorkers spun, just like a revolving stage, head over heels for the Tucker.
For many New Yorkers, the love affair with the Tucker began with an article that ran in The New York Times on October 3, 1946. The piece, headlined “The ‘Torpedo’ Car Expected to Make Debut Next Year,” grabbed the attention of Big Apple motorists with a three-column wide photo of an ultramodern sedan.
Much of the national coverage the “Torpedo” received that year, such as the well-known Science Illustrated feature, emphasized the mechanics of the car. However, the NYT piece devoted the majority of its copy to information regarding the stock offering and Tucker’s corporate assets. This was undoubtedly intended to resonate with New York readers whose pulse was known to grow rapid more readily over the rhythm of ticker tape than the rumble of an auto’s engine.
But while the hearts of Wall Street wizards and auto aficionados alike were indeed captured, all that glittered wasn’t what it appeared to be in the most popular newspaper of the city whose streets were said to be paved with gold.
In fact, the photo — a three-quarter rear view of a car on a tree-lined street — was not a “Torpedo” at all. It was actually a one-quarter size clay model of the avant-garde George Lawson design. It was a stunner, forgery notwithstanding: meticulously detailed, photographed against a bucolic background, and so skillfully airbrushed that not even the savviest of the “Old Gray Lady’s” readers could have been the wiser. Positioned on the printed page, the handsome, white-walled, futuristic auto looked quite at home on the “streets” of suburbia. And concerning the news of the impending IPO, production models being ready for testing and demonstration by January 1 of 1947, and the details of the plant lease agreement? Well, history would prove those paragraphs to be dubious as well.
The firm of New York ad legend Roy S. Durstine was hired by the Tucker Corporation in February 1947 to head their advertising and media relations efforts. Durstine and company made quick work to both counteract the negative press Tucker had recently received regarding the SEC’s Stop Order and to reignite the interest of the car-buying public. The March 2nd Sunday editions of both The New York Times and The New York Herald featured splashy, full-page ads with illustrations of the Alex Tremulis-designed “Tucker ’48.” New Yorkers were rapt once again.
Soon after the ads ran, Durstine’s hands would be tied by the SEC’s rules against conventional advertising during stock registration and sale periods. But if anyone could dream up novel ways to showcase the Tucker, it was seasoned auto-industry publicity guru Ellis Travers who was now a VP at Durstine in charge of the account out of the firm’s newly established Chicago branch.
The much-delayed stock sale was finally approved on July 15, 1947, and pressure was on to push shares. Based on the wild success of the world premiere of the prototype nearly a month prior, the Tucker publicity machine — directed largely by Durstine and Travers — decided to execute a full-scale tour for the Tin Goose. This series of demonstrations and personal appearances by Preston Tucker had the power to generate stock sales, public excitement, and media coverage that traditional advertising alone did not.
It was with some irony that the prototype was not driven over the pavement during this whirlwind “roadshow,” but was transported by means of a Conestoga freight plane. A plane that eventually met a “victim of circumstances” fate completely befitting the Tucker saga: a crash in the mud due to a botched emergency landing during a storm.
During the summer of 1947, the demonstrations brought thousands of curious onlookers and prospective buyers of cars, accessories, and dealerships to exhibition halls in cities all across the country (and, with the help of the Conestoga, trips to Canada and Cuba). However, public interest in the stock was not as robust as Tucker executives had hoped due, in part, by regulatory stymieing. One of the best-attended showings occurred at Los Angeles’ Pan-Pacific Auditorium, where again circumstances proved unfortunate for Tucker as the sale of his corporation’s stock was indeed banned in California.
But New York offered Tucker Corp the perfect storm for success: a population keen on contemporary style and big on brokerage accounts as well as a major media market. As such, New York — the financial and news capital of the world — was the location of the greatest exhibitions of the Tin Goose where and when stock could be bought.
The Tin Goose Goes to Gotham
Two days after the approval of the stock sale, the Tin Goose made a brief showing in the Big Apple. It was displayed in the grand ballroom of the Commodore Hotel (now the Grand Hyatt), a luxury hotel connected to the bustling Grand Central Terminal. The New York Times reported on July 18 that “crowds of motor enthusiasts” attended the event, though exact numbers were not given. It also stated that Preston Tucker was presented with a “certificate of merit” at the reception by the New York Museum of Science and Industry for his achievement in the automotive field. (Sidenote: The Commodore Hotel was named for one of history’s most successful transportation entrepreneurs “Commodore” Cornelius Vanderbuilt.)
Consequently, The New York Museum of Science and Industry invited Mr. Tucker and the Tin Goose for an extended exhibition at the Museum the following month. The now-defunct tourist attraction was located at the alluring Art Deco skyscraper at 30 Rockefeller Plaza from the time Nelson A. Rockefeller became a Museum Trustee in 1935 to its closing in 1949.
The ad for August’s Tucker appearance at The Museum of Science and Industry promised the public a chance to view the technology they had read and heard about in the press, along with a few Tucker Corp marketing tricks not usually associated with science or industry: models from NYC’s famed Conover Agency (owner Harry Conover coined the phrase “Cover Girl”) and a revolving stage.
The August 8 edition of The New York Times offered a rousing review of the previous day’s opening festivities at the Museum, reporting a daily attendance at 15,000. For perspective, historical records state the Museum averaged just over 9,500 visitors per week at its peak. And the crowds never let up. According to the book The Indomitable Tin Goose, the Museum of Science and Industry enjoyed 100,000 total paid admissions for the 10-day run of the Tucker exhibit which meant attendance and receipts surpassed even the most popular Broadway shows over the same time stretch.
Among the novel highlights of the exhibit mentioned in the NYT was a “talking chassis where features of the car were explained through electrical sound devices.” Additionally, visitors were treated to motion pictures of the Tucker being driven around the Chicago factory. The latter was, no doubt, a clever attempt to showcase The ad for August’s Tucker appearance at The Museum of Science and Industry promised the public a chance to view the technology they had read and heard about in the press, along with a few Tucker Corp marketing tricks not usually associated with science or industry: models from NYC’s famed Conover Agency (owner Harry Conover coined the phrase “Cover Girl”) and a revolving stage.
The August 8 edition of The New York Times offered a rousing review of the previous day’s opening festivities at the Museum, reporting a daily attendance at 15,000. For perspective, historical records state the Museum averaged just over 9,500 visitors per week at its peak. And the crowds never let up. According to the book The Indomitable Tin Goose, the Museum of Science and Industry enjoyed 100,000 total paid admissions for the 10-day run of the Tucker exhibit which meant attendance and receipts surpassed even the most popular Broadway shows over the same time stretch.
Among the novel highlights of the exhibit mentioned in the NYT was a “talking chassis where features of the car were explained through electrical sound devices.” Additionally, visitors were treated to motion pictures of the Tucker being driven around the Chicago factory. The latter was, no doubt, a clever attempt to showcase both the car and the impressive enormity of the plant.
Steering (Gossip) Columns
The Museum exhibit and the resulting press coverage weren’t all about the “Car of Tomorrow.” In NY’s glossy magazines, style often trumps substance. And the Tucker demonstration packed style in spades. Nothing proved that more than the two-column recap of the exhibition that ran in the August 16, 1947 issue of The New Yorker magazine. As part of its “Talk of the Town” feature, a society column, attention was placed firmly on the more fabulous aspects of the premiere.
Despite the fact that the event was held at one of the country’s most popular venues for the showcasing of modern marvels of science, the column eschewed physics for physiques, specifically those of the models: how they looked while “affectionately patting” the luggage and “uncomprehendingly” viewing the engine. Also mentioned, at length, was Mr. Tucker’s choice of wardrobe, his blasting of the Golden State (“…I’ve taken a writ of mandamus against California.”), and the unintentionally humorous misspellings and malapropisms contained in the “164,000 Unsolicited Letters from Two Newspaper Ads in 26 Cities” (this claim was according to the Tucker Corp’s placard on a mail bin that accompanied the exhibit). But that kind of biting is par for the course in New York social journalism, even today.
While it wasn’t always the case for Tucker, the buzz around the prototype in NY was all GOOD publicity. The Museum of Science and Industry exhibit was a victory for Durstine, Travers and the other demonstration organizers. The people and the press of New York were atwitter with all things Tucker.
But, reminiscent of the NYT story of 1946, New Yorkers had once again fallen for a bit smoke-and-mirrors courtesy of Tucker Corp. Although Preston Tucker himself made it very clear during his visit to New York that production had not yet begun on the Tucker sedan, it didn’t seem to matter to the thousands who clamored for a glimpse of the Tin Goose. The public filled the halls from opening until close. The chassis “talked,” and nobody walked.
It was August of 1947. Exactly 65 years ago this month. And New Yorkers spun, just like a revolving stage, head over heels for the Tucker.
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