Duncan Hines (19 page)

While Hines dictated some of his letters, Olga and Emelie answered those not requiring his personal attention. Despite the volume of mail, though, Hines carefully considered any document that bore his name. He adamantly refused to sign any letter without knowing its full content and significance. No secretary in his pay ever gave him a stack of letters to sign quickly. Hines insisted on reading each letter carefully before it was dropped in the mailbox.
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Although there was only one telephone in his office, Hines rarely used it. When he was away from the office, he almost never bothered to call in. Said one secretary, “We didn't hear from him from the time he left until the time he got back.”
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Quite often he could be away for two or three weeks. One reason for his reluctance
of using the telephone was that there were few people he knew well enough that warranted a phone call. “Why call someone on the phone, when a letter would serve the same purpose?” he reasoned. Calling someone long distance on the telephone, in Hines's eyes, was an unneeded expense, an extravagance, and one he could do without. Besides, he wanted to keep a record of what he had said to whom, something he could not do if he used the telephone.
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Sara Meeks, one of his secretaries in the 1950s, explained what it was like working for Hines. “We never sat around,” she said. “We always worked. We took an hour off for lunch…Sometimes we would bring our lunch, but usually we wanted a break. We wanted to get out…. We never ate or had coffee or anything while on the job.”
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Hines put both Olga and Emelie in charge of keeping his files in meticulous order. And they did, because Hines was very serious on this point. Sloppy paperwork could sabotage all his efforts. His business was not, he stressed, a flippant one. There were people out there who depended on him. “Caution,” therefore, was the office watchword. Hines stressed to them that if they were indifferent to what his books meant to so many—and if their attitude was reflected in their paperwork—he could lose the public's trust and thus his business. This, however, was the least of his concerns. He could always return to the printing business. He could not, however, win back his name once it was tarnished by lackadaisical office practices. Every time he published a recommendation, his integrity was on the line—and to him losing it was a worse fate than losing his business.
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Lodging for a Night
, first released in 1938, was an outgrowth of
Adventures in Good Eating
. This guidebook, while not as popular as its predecessor, was just as vital. It was prepared in response to his readers' many requests that there be a companion volume to
Adventures in Good Eating
. T. C. Dedman, owner of the Beaumont Inn in Harrodsburg, Kentucky, knew Hines well. His inn was always listed in both of Hines's guidebooks as an excellent place to eat and sleep. “He was very important to us,” said Dedman, speaking of Hines's influence on his industry.

Of course, you could not pay Mr. Hines. There was no membership charge. You were in [his book] or you were out, and there was nothing you could do about it except improve your situation to please him…. You could not entertain him. Many times he [stopped to eat at] our place, and we'd say “Mr. Hines, we'd like to pick up your lunch” to which he would reply, ‘absolutely not.' You could not. He just wouldn't have that at all…. He came fairly often. Even when he was in Chicago, he used to come by the inn once or twice a year. And, of course, when he moved to Bowling Green, why several times a year we would always see him. But his books,
Adventures in
Good Eating
and
Lodging for a Night
were certainly most influential so far as all inns or eating places all around were concerned. In other words, we felt that he definitely help put us on the map.

Though little has been written as to how the lodging industry viewed Hines, his opinions and suggestions, according to Dedman, were taken very seriously by innkeepers. “Those who were not in [his guidebook] pooh-poohed it a little bit, saying it wasn't important. But it
was
important! It was
very
important.” The reason it was important could be revealed by those who strolled in as guests. Said Dedman, “People would come by and say, ‘We're traveling by Duncan Hines' books.” A plethora of such customers was motivation enough to keep most innkeepers on their toes because such travelers annually put an extra $25,000 to $50,000 in an inn's bank account.

Dedman witnessed Hines's lodging inspections. “He stayed overnight a few times at our place—in fact a number of times,” he said. “But when he didn't, he would ask to see” two rooms “and sometimes three or four.” Hines “would ask to see one on the second floor and one on the third floor. Or a couple on each floor. And he would go up and say, ‘Oh, could I see in this room?' He would pick the room. He wouldn't just take our key.” Hines “would look in the bathrooms. He would look around [the room for] cleanliness, feel the beds, and that sort of thing.” Though Hines was a frequent guest, Dedman and his family were never sure what the verdict on their inn would be until the next edition of
Lodging for a Night was
published. Their experience was duplicated a thousand-fold by other innkeepers every year.
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Within the pages of his dark-blue lodging guide, Hines developed a criteria that shaped his lodging recommendations, which he asked his readers to adopt while traveling. When the time came to choose a place to spend the night, these “required” qualities, said Hines, made it possible for any traveler to determine an accommodation's worthiness. As Hines's reputation as a trustworthy authority grew, hotels and motels were foolish to
ignore his words, because his readers were soon demanding innkeepers adapt his criteria, which consisted of: cleanliness throughout—not only clean linen but clean bedding; quietness, such as freedom from traffic and other noises, as well as disturbing movements or conversations of other guests; comfortable beds; courteous, adequate and unobtrusive service, and hospitality, which Hines said was the defining ingredient that made “a traveler's sojourn pleasant” and created within him “the desire to return again.”
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In the first edition of
Lodging for a Night
Hines acknowledged it was weighted with a preference for hotels. He attributed this prejudice to “habit” because “a first-class hotel carries an established reputation and offers certain recognized conveniences.” But just because he tended to favor hotels as a place to sleep did not mean he was unwilling to let them off the hook. If he saw things he did not like, they did not get listed. Most hotels, he said, had innumerable deficiencies, and every seasoned traveler would agree with him. The fact that Hines went to the trouble to lay out a reform agenda for hotels is a telling comment on the state of the hotel industry in the late 1930s. In many instances, Hines said, hotels might as well have had a motto that proudly boasted: “The public be damned. They've got to sleep somewhere.” Hines instructed the public, should they find any such institutions, to let him know. If a pattern emerged, they would not be listed. Those who were excluded soon started paying closer attention to what he said.

There were places to spend the night along the road other than hotels. One new development in the late 1930s was the infant motel industry. When
Lodging for a Night
was first published, this primitive form of public accommodation was struggling to emerge from its initial disreputable incarnation, i.e., horrible little places on the side of the road which, more often than not, were makeshift houses of prostitution that operated within the limits of the law. By the time the lodging guide garnered the public's attention, motels were slowly becoming respectable places. Even so, travelers still needed to discriminate; sometimes lovely exteriors could mask an
ugly interior—or something worse. In this respect,
Lodging for a Night
proved for many to be an invaluable traveling tool.

For a motel to be included in
Lodging for a Night
, Hines developed a criteria. Not surprisingly, some of his guidelines duplicated his expectations for well-run hotels. But there were a few differences. Travelers who wished to stay in a motel, he said, should expect and demand: a clean, inviting atmosphere; restful beds; clean bedding; clean linen; full lavatory and bathroom facilities, including plenty of hot water; convenient parking to unload personal belongings; a quiet location away from traffic and city noises; and a room that is “comfortable by reason of cross ventilation—a real advantage in sultry weather.” A couple of aspects that quickly gained his approval concerning motels was that there was “no occasion for tipping—and more often than not the prices [were] more reasonable than the hotel rates.”

Although many motels eventually established a code of ethics, Hines wrote his own code for them. It was, he insisted, one motel operators should follow to the letter—that is, if they wanted any business from him or his readers. Many motel operators appreciated his efforts, even if it required increased expense on their part. Hines said while his code was short, it was identical with those prevailing in first class hotels. Once put into practice, he said, travelers would quickly find motels and motor courts an attractive option. His code insisted that: only guests with baggage should be accepted; guests should register in the regular way and remain all night; drinking on the premises should not be permitted; and all questionable trade refused.
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Hines repeatedly stated that his book of lodging facilities, like his restaurant guide, was not complete. His contribution to guidebook literature consisted of those inns which had been brought to his attention and inspected. However, because they were found to be void of defects, he listed them until a pattern of complaints made it necessary to dispense with their inclusion. He advised his readers to always tell the innkeeper that
Lodging For a Night
led them to his door. He also suggested that, whether or not they enjoyed their stay, the innkeeper should know their opinion of his
establishment. That someone took the time to say anything at all, Hines believed, would make a difference in the long run. Their comments also gave the innkeeper some indication of what customers wanted in their accommodations. There is no doubt many readers complied with his request.

The last page of the 1939 edition of
Lodging for a Night
printed two pictures. One was of Hines standing next to his automobile. In the passenger seat was Florence with their Boston terrier, Peggy, in her lap. It was taken just as they were about to start off for their last trip to Tennessee. For Hines, the photograph had a sentimental quality. Accompanying the photo was the caption, “I deeply regret to say this is the last picture taken of Mrs. Hines.” In the ensuing years Hines frequently traveled to Chicago, where on many occasions he visited Florence's grave. Below this sad reminder was another photograph of his current home.
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In that house another annual Duncan Hines publication was about to be born. Its birth was only months away. But there was something different about this one. It was not a guidebook.

On 25 April 1939, Jack Bruce, the man in charge of book production for R. R. Donnelley, wrote Hines and commented that “the sale of your books must be ‘red hot.' I presume that you are progressing very nicely on the new cooking book.”
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Indeed he was. Almost a year earlier, Hines had decided to supplement the income from his two regular guidebooks with a third publication—a cookbook. Its origin grew out of repeated requests for one from those using his restaurant guide who wanted to duplicate the same dishes in their kitchens that they were consuming in public—and believed Hines could persuade the originators of these wonderful concoctions to give them away. This was a most unlikely prospect, and Hines knew it. Most restaurants were afraid to publicize their prized secret recipes for fear that, once the public knew how to create them, they would no longer patronize their businesses, preferring instead to eat them at home. Hines, however, was never one to miss an opportunity, so he began visiting restaurants, asking for recipes. He had no idea whether or not he would be successful in collecting enough material.

To his delight, he had no trouble at all. He should not have been surprised. What restaurant owner or chef would dare refuse a request from Duncan Hines? He calmed all fears by announcing he had no intention of publicizing prized recipes; he merely wanted a tasty dish or two that would satisfy the public's demand for something unusual, something not always found in the home. A single recipe, he said, could do no harm, and it might do plenty of good; when it appeared in his cookbook, both restaurant and chef would be given credit for its creation. Many restaurants were delighted to give him a couple of their cherished culinary secrets. It was the least they could do for a man who had done much for them and was working hard to elevate their industry to new heights of respectability.
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