Ward’s Cites Losses, Retail Plans : Nation’s First Catalogue Will Take Its Last Order
After the Wells Fargo wagon delivered his package in Juniata, Neb., D.H. Freeman sent a letter to Chicago and the Cheapest Cash House in America: “I can but say you have dealt handsomely with us.”
America’s first catalogue, Aaron Montgomery Ward’s stroke of entrepreneurial genius, was a huge success in the isolated farming communities that covered America’s heartland more than a century ago.
It quickly spawned other catalogues--watch salesman Richard W. Sears brought out his first catalogue 14 years later--and eventually the mail-order industry that today produces 8.5 billion catalogues, an average of 80 for every American household.
But the folks who now run Aaron Montgomery Ward’s company announced Friday that they are doing away with the Ward’s catalogue, a piece of Americana launched in 1872 as a single sheet of parchment peddling silk fans, honey soap, parasols, cashmere suits and hem-stitched handkerchiefs.
Losses of $50 million a year recently were to blame, but the decision was also prompted by Ward’s desire to position the ailing company for the future.
“What’s holding us back, ironically, is that catalogue Aaron Montgomery Ward started 113 years ago,” said Bernard F. Brennan, recently named president and chief executive officer of Ward’s, now owned by Mobil Oil Corp. “Our goal is to become a contemporary, single-focused retailer.”
That means more specialty retail stores but no more catalogues. The traditional Christmas catalogue this year will mark Ward’s last effort in the field, and the business will be phased out by the end of next year. About 5,000 of the firm’s 78,000 employees will be laid off.
Despite Ward’s problems, the direct-mail industry remains healthy.
Catalogue readers spent nearly $50 billion on mail-order goods last year. Sears is the industry leader, with $4.5 billion in catalogue sales, followed by J.C. Penney, with $1.9 billion. Ward’s $1.3 billion made it the third largest.
One of Seven Homes
Ward’s catalogue had managed over the years to survive the birth of the motor car, the department store and the shopping mall and become a fixture in millions of homes. One out of seven American homes had one, the company once estimated.
“We used to live out of the Montgomery Ward’s catalogue when the children were small,” said Sydney Kruse, a 48-year-old farm wife in Walthill, Neb. “We used it for toys, work clothes, the children’s clothing, just about everything.”
Like many farm families once dependent on the thick, glossy wish book, the Kruses now find it cheaper and more convenient to shop in town. But she was sorry to hear about Ward’s decision. “That’s the end of an era, isn’t it?”
“It’s a sad thing when a company as historic and old as Ward’s” leaves the catalogue business, said Roberta Maneker, spokesman for the Direct Marketing Assn. in New York. “But it doesn’t indicate a trend for the industry. The industry continues to grow.”
Part of Fabric
Of course, catalogues are more than a business; they have become part of America’s fabric. Ward’s first catalogue helped link far corners of the sprawling country at the turn of the century, in the way that jet transportation and high-speed communication shrank America in the 20th Century.
“At the earnest solicitation of many Grangers, we have consented to open a house devoted to furnishing farmers and mechanics . . . with all kinds of merchandise and wholesale prices,” trumpeted Ward’s first catalogue.
At the time, rural America relied on the general store and the traveling salesman for the goods necessary for life on the farm. The Old West was just being settled, post offices were going up and railroad tracks were going down.
Ward’s idea was to eliminate the middle man and sell directly to his customers, offering a wider selection of goods at lower prices than the rural store. Officers of the Grange, then a fledgling organization of farmers, distributed his catalogue. Merchandise was sent out C.O.D. from the store in Chicago, so “you can see just what you pay for,” the catalogue said.
Answer to Prayers
The first catalogue was the answer to farmers’ prayers. It carried 163 items, but with time the list grew. An 1875 catalogue offered $50 farm wagons, $150 buggies and a “noiseless, comfortable and durable” spring bed for $2.75. Among other offerings: brass kettles, clothes wringers, trunks, watches, furs (mink muff and boa: $15), hoop skirts, buttons, gentlemen’s shirts and drawers, wool flannels, tablecloths, boots--nearly 2,000 items in all.
Nothing was taken for granted. “In writing your name and address,” an early catalogue instructed, “do not endeavor to show us a sample of spreadeagle, but rather affect the simple, plain and perfectly legible signature of John Hancock.”
As the catalogue expanded, “testimonials” from satisfied customers were included. “The goods you sent me arrived in good condition and gave first-rate satisfaction,” wrote Joseph Aspey of New Chambersburg, Ohio. “Well done, good and faithful servants!”
When customers inquired about liquor sales, Ward offered spirits for sale by the gallon. But he wrote a disclaimer: “We shall not derive 1 cent profit from the sale of these goods.”
Sears Starts Catalogue
In 1886, Sears, another Chicagoan, eyeing the success of Ward’s, adopted the mail-order idea to sell watches. A decade later, Sears, Roebuck & Co.’s catalogue was a voluminous 700 pages, offering 6,000 items, from shoes and stoves to fishing tackle and furniture.
Today, with thousands of stores and shopping malls dotting the countryside, the mail-order business still thrives, catering to working women, homebound consumers and persons with special hobbies.
Sears has Cheryl Tiegs on the cover and sells $1,500 popcorn makers. Spiegel says its customers include Rosalynn Carter and Dr. Joyce Brothers. America’s coffee tables remain stacked with catalogues.
Mail-order shopping today, says an industry trade group, has become “easy, convenient, reliable and chic.”
