Fast Food Nation: What The All-American Meal is Doing to the World (6 page)

RAY KROC TOOK THE
McDonald brothers’ Speedee Service System and spread it nationwide, creating a fast food empire. Although he founded a company that came to symbolize corporate America, Kroc was never a buttoned-down corporate type. He was a former jazz musician who’d played at speakeasies — and at a bordello, on at least one occasion — during Prohibition. He was a charming, funny, and indefatigable traveling salesman who endured many years of disappointment, a Willy Loman who finally managed to hit it big in his early sixties. Kroc grew up in Oak Park, Illinois, not far from Chicago. His father worked for Western Union. As a high school freshman, Ray Kroc discovered the joys of selling while employed at his uncle’s soda fountain. “That was where I learned you could influence people with a smile and enthusiasm,” Kroc recalled in his autobiography,
Grinding It Out
, “and sell them a sundae when what they’d come for was a cup of coffee.”

Over the years, Kroc sold coffee beans, sheet music, paper cups, Florida real estate, powdered instant beverages called “Malt-a-Plenty” and “Shake-a-Plenty,” a gadget that could dispense whipped cream or shaving lather, square ice cream scoops, and a collapsible table-and-bench combination called “Fold-a-Nook” that retreated into the wall like a Murphy bed. The main problem with square scoops of ice cream, he found, was that they slid off the plate when you tried to eat them. Kroc used the same basic technique to sell all these things: he tailored his pitch to fit the buyer’s tastes. Despite one setback after another, he kept at it, always convinced that success was just around the corner. “If you believe in it, and you believe in it hard,” Kroc later told audiences, “it’s impossible to fail. I don’t care what it is — you can get it!”

Ray Kroc was selling milk-shake mixers in 1954 when he first visited the new McDonald’s Self-Service Restaurant in San Bernardino. The McDonald brothers were two of his best customers. The Multimixer unit that Kroc sold could make five milk shakes at once. He wondered why the McDonald brothers needed eight of the machines. Kroc had visited a lot of restaurant kitchens, out on the road, demonstrating
the Multimixer — and had never seen anything like the Mc-Donald’s Speedee Service System. “When I saw it,” he later wrote, “I felt like some latter-day Newton who’d just had an Idaho potato caromed off his skull.” He looked at the restaurant “through the eyes of a salesman” and envisioned putting a McDonald’s at busy intersections all across the land.

Richard and “Mac” McDonald were less ambitious. They were clearing $100,000 a year in profits from the restaurant, a huge sum in those days. They already owned a big house and three Cadillacs. They didn’t like to travel. They’d recently refused an offer from the Carnation Milk Company, which thought that opening more McDonald’s would increase the sales of milk shakes. Nevertheless, Kroc convinced the brothers to sell him the right to franchise McDonald’s nationwide. The two could stay at home, while Kroc traveled the country, making them even richer. A deal was signed. Years later Richard McDonald described his first memory of Kroc, a moment that would soon lead to the birth of the world’s biggest restaurant chain: “This little fellow comes in, with a high voice, and says, ‘hi.’”

After finalizing the agreement with the McDonald brothers, Kroc sent a letter to Walt Disney. In 1917 the two men had both lied about their ages to join the Red Cross and see battle in Europe. A long time had clearly passed since their last conversation. “Dear Walt,” the letter said. “I feel somewhat presumptuous addressing you in this way yet I feel sure you would not want me to address you any other way. My name is Ray A. Kroc… I look over the Company A picture we had taken at Sound Beach, Conn., many times and recall a lot of pleasant memories.” After the warm-up came the pitch: “I have very recently taken over the national franchise of the McDonald’s system. I would like to inquire if there may be an opportunity for a McDonald’s in your Disneyland Development.”

Walt Disney sent Kroc a cordial reply and forwarded his proposal to an executive in charge of the theme park’s concessions. Disneyland was still under construction, its opening was eagerly awaited by millions of American children, and Kroc may have had high hopes. According to one account, Disney’s company asked Kroc to raise the price of McDonald’s french fries from ten cents to fifteen cents; Disney would keep the extra nickel as payment for granting the concession; and the story ends with Ray Kroc refusing to gouge his loyal customers. The account seems highly unlikely, a belated effort by someone at McDonald’s to put the best spin on a sales pitch that
went nowhere. When Disneyland opened in July of 1955 — an event that Ronald Reagan cohosted for ABC — it had food stands run by Welch’s, Stouffer’s, and Aunt Jemima’s, but no McDonald’s. Kroc was not yet in their league. His recollection of Walt Disney as a young man, briefly mentioned in
Grinding It Out
, is not entirely flattering. “He was regarded as a strange duck,” Kroc wrote of Disney, “because whenever we had time off and went out on the town to chase girls, he stayed in camp drawing pictures.”

Whatever feelings existed between the two men, Walt Disney proved in many respects to be a role model for Ray Kroc. Disney’s success had come much more quickly. At the age of twenty-one he’d left the Midwest and opened his own movie studio in Los Angeles. He was famous before turning thirty. In
The Magic Kingdom
(1997) Steven Watts describes Walt Disney’s efforts to apply the techniques of mass production to Hollywood moviemaking. He greatly admired Henry Ford and introduced an assembly line and a rigorous division of labor at the Disney Studio, which was soon depicted as a “fun factory.” Instead of drawing entire scenes, artists were given narrowly defined tasks, meticulously sketching and inking Disney characters while supervisors watched them and timed how long it took them to complete each cel. During the 1930s the production system at the studio was organized to function like that of an automobile plant. “Hundreds of young people were being trained and fitted,” Disney explained, “into a machine for the manufacture of entertainment.”

The working conditions at Disney’s factory, however, were not always fun. In 1941 hundreds of Disney animators went on strike, expressing support for the Screen Cartoonists Guild. The other major cartoon studios in Hollywood had already signed agreements with the union. Disney’s father was an ardent socialist, and Disney’s films had long expressed a populist celebration of the common man. But Walt’s response to the strike betrayed a different political sensibility. He fired employees who were sympathetic to the union, allowed private guards to rough up workers on the picket line, tried to impose a phony company union, brought in an organized crime figure from Chicago to rig a settlement, and placed a full-page ad in
Variety
that accused leaders of the Screen Cartoonists Guild of being Communists. The strike finally ended when Disney acceded to the union’s demands. The experience left him feeling embittered. Convinced that Communist agents had been responsible for his troubles, Disney subsequently appeared as a friendly witness before the House Un-American Activities Committee,
served as a secret informer for the FBI, and strongly supported the Hollywood blacklist. During the height of labor tension at his studio, Disney had made a speech to a group of employees, arguing that the solution to their problems rested not with a labor union, but with
a good day’s work
. “Don’t forget this,” Disney told them, “it’s the law of the universe that the strong shall survive and the weak must fall by the way, and I don’t give a damn what idealistic plan is cooked up, nothing can change that.”

Decades later, Ray Kroc used similar language to outline his own political philosophy. Kroc’s years on the road as a traveling salesman — carrying his own order forms and sample books, knocking on doors, facing each new customer alone, and having countless doors slammed in his face — no doubt influenced his view of humanity. “Look, it is ridiculous to call this an industry,” Kroc told a reporter in 1972, dismissing any high-minded analysis of the fast food business. “This is not. This is rat eat rat, dog eat dog. I’ll kill ’em, and I’m going to kill ’em before they kill me. You’re talking about the American way of survival of the fittest.”

While Disney backed right-wing groups and produced campaign ads for the Republican Party, Kroc remained aloof from electoral politics — with one notable exception. In 1972, Kroc gave $250,000 to President Nixon’s reelection campaign, breaking the gift into smaller donations, funneling the money through various state and local Republican committees. Nixon had every reason to like McDonald’s, long before tasting one of its hamburgers. Kroc had never met the president; the gift did not stem from any personal friendship or fondness. That year the fast food industry was lobbying Congress and the White House to pass new legislation — known as the “McDonald’s bill” — that would allow employers to pay sixteen- and seventeen-year-old kids wages 20 percent lower than the minimum wage. Around the time of Kroc’s $250,000 donation, McDonald’s crew members earned about $1.60 an hour. The subminimum wage proposal would reduce some wages to $1.28 an hour.

The Nixon administration supported the McDonald’s bill and permitted McDonald’s to raise the price of its Quarter Pounders, despite the mandatory wage and price controls restricting other fast food chains. The size and the timing of Kroc’s political contribution sparked Democratic accusations of influence peddling. Outraged by the charges, Kroc later called his critics “sons of bitches.” The uproar left him wary of backing political candidates. Nevertheless, Kroc retained
a soft spot for Calvin Coolidge, whose thoughts on hard work and self-reliance were prominently displayed at McDonald’s corporate headquarters.

DESPITE A PASSIONATE OPPOSITION
to socialism and to any government meddling with free enterprise, Walt Disney relied on federal funds in the 1940s to keep his business afloat. The animators’ strike had left the Disney Studio in a precarious financial condition. Disney began to seek government contracts — and those contracts were soon responsible for 90 percent of his studio’s output. During World War II, Walt Disney produced scores of military training and propaganda films, including
Food Will Win the War, High-Level Precision Bombing
, and
A Few Quick Facts About Venereal Disease
. After the war, Disney continued to work closely with top military officials and military contractors, becoming America’s most popular exponent of Cold War science. For audiences living in fear of nuclear annihilation, Walt Disney became a source of reassurance, making the latest technical advances seem marvelous and exciting. His faith in the goodness of American technology was succinctly expressed by the title of a film that the Disney Studio produced for Westinghouse Electric:
The Dawn of Better Living
.

Disney’s passion for science found expression in “Tomorrowland,” the name given to a section of his theme park and to segments of his weekly television show. Tomorrowland encompassed everything from space travel to the household appliances of the future, depicting progress as a relentless march toward greater convenience for consumers. And yet, from the very beginning, there was a dark side to this Tomorrowland. It celebrated technology without moral qualms. Some of the science it espoused later proved to be not so benign — and some of the scientists it promoted were unusual role models for the nation’s children.

In the mid-1950s Wernher von Braun cohosted and helped produce a series of Disney television shows on space exploration. “Man in Space” and the other Tomorrowland episodes on the topic were enormously popular and fueled public support for an American space program. At the time, von Braun was the U.S. Army’s leading rocket scientist. He had served in the same capacity for the German army
during World War II. He had been an early and enthusiastic member of the Nazi party, as well as a major in the SS. At least 20,000 slave laborers, many of them Allied prisoners of war, died at Dora-Nordhausen, the factory where von Braun’s rockets were built. Less than ten years after the liberation of Dora-Nordhausen, von Braun was giving orders to Disney animators and designing a ride at Disneyland called Rocket to the Moon. Heinz Haber, another key Tomorrowland adviser — and eventually the chief scientific consultant to Walt Disney Productions — spent much of World War II conducting research on high-speed, high-altitude flight for the Luftwaffe Institute for Aviation Medicine. In order to assess the risks faced by German air force pilots, the institute performed experiments on hundreds of inmates at the Dachau concentration camp near Munich. The inmates who survived these experiments were usually killed and then dissected. Haber left Germany after the war and shared his knowledge of aviation medicine with the U.S. Army Air Force. He later cohosted Disney’s “Man in Space” with von Braun. When the Eisenhower administration asked Walt Disney to produce a show championing the civilian use of nuclear power, Heinz Haber was given the assignment. He hosted the Disney broadcast called “Our Friend the Atom” and wrote a popular children’s book with the same title, both of which made nuclear fission seem fun, instead of terrifying. “Our Friend the Atom” was sponsored by General Dynamics, a manufacturer of nuclear reactors. The company also financed the atomic submarine ride at Disneyland’s Tomorrowland.

The future heralded at Disneyland was one in which every aspect of American life had a corporate sponsor. Walt Disney was the most beloved children’s entertainer in the country. He had unrivaled access to impressionable young minds — and other corporations, with other agendas to sell, were eager to come along for the ride. Monsanto built Disneyland’s House of the Future, which was made of plastic. General Electric backed the Carousel of Progress, which featured an Audio-Animatronic housewife, standing in her futuristic kitchen, singing about “a great big beautiful tomorrow.” Richfield Oil offered utopian fantasies about cars and a ride aptly named Autopia. “Here you leave Today,” said the plaque at the entrance to Disneyland, “and enter the world of Yesterday, Tomorrow, and Fantasy.”

At first, Disneyland offered visitors an extraordinary feeling of escape; people had never seen anything like it. The great irony, of course, is that Disney’s suburban, corporate world of Tomorrow would soon
become the Anaheim of Today. Within a decade of its opening, Disneyland was no longer set amid a rural idyll of orange groves, it was stuck in the middle of cheap motels, traffic jams on the Santa Ana freeway, fast food joints, and industrial parks. Walt Disney frequently slept at his small apartment above the firehouse in Disneyland’s Main Street, USA. By the early 1960s, the hard realities of Today were more and more difficult to ignore, and Disney began dreaming of bigger things, of Disney World, a place even farther removed from the forces he’d helped to unleash, a fantasy that could be even more thoroughly controlled.

Among other cultural innovations, Walt Disney pioneered the marketing strategy now known as “synergy.” During the 1930s, he signed licensing agreements with dozens of firms, granting them the right to use Mickey Mouse on their products and in their ads. In 1938
Snow White
proved a turning point in film marketing: Disney had signed seventy licensing deals prior to the film’s release. Snow White toys, books, clothes, snacks, and records were already for sale when the film opened. Disney later used television to achieve a degree of synergy beyond anything that anyone had previously dared. His first television broadcast,
One Hour in Wonderland
(1950), culminated in a promotion for the upcoming Disney film
Alice in Wonderland
. His first television series,
Disneyland
(1954), provided weekly updates on the construction work at his theme park. ABC, which broadcast the show, owned a large financial stake in the Anaheim venture. Disneyland’s other major investor, Western Printing and Lithography, printed Disney books such as
The Walt Disney Story of Our Friend the Atom
. In the guise of televised entertainment, episodes of
Disneyland
were often thinly disguised infomercials, promoting films, books, toys, an amusement park — and, most of all, Disney himself, the living, breathing incarnation of a brand, the man who neatly tied all the other commodities together into one cheerful, friendly, patriotic idea.

Ray Kroc could only dream, during McDonald’s tough early years, of having such marketing tools at his disposal. He was forced to rely instead on his wits, his charisma, and his instinct for promotion. Kroc believed completely in whatever he sold and pitched McDonald’s franchises with an almost religious fervor. He also knew a few things about publicity, having auditioned talent for a Chicago radio station in the 1920s and performed in nightclubs for years. Kroc hired a publicity firm led by a gag writer and a former MGM road manager to get McDonald’s into the news. Children would be the new restaurant
chain’s target customers. The McDonald brothers had aimed for a family crowd, and now Kroc improved and refined their marketing strategy. He’d picked the right moment. America was in the middle of a baby boom; the number of children had soared in the decade after World War II. Kroc wanted to create a safe, clean, all-American place for kids. The McDonald’s franchise agreement required every new restaurant to fly the Stars and Stripes. Kroc understood that how he sold food was just as important as how the food tasted. He liked to tell people that he was really in show business, not the restaurant business. Promoting McDonald’s to children was a clever, pragmatic decision. “A child who loves our TV commercials,” Kroc explained, “and brings her grandparents to a McDonald’s gives us two more customers.”

The McDonald’s Corporation’s first mascot was Speedee, a winking little chef with a hamburger for a head. The character was later renamed Archie McDonald. Speedy was the name of Alka-Seltzer’s mascot, and it seemed unwise to imply any connection between the two brands. In 1960, Oscar Goldstein, a McDonald’s franchisee in Washington, D.C., decided to sponsor
Bozo’s Circus
, a local children’s television show. Bozo’s appearance at a McDonald’s restaurant drew large crowds. When the local NBC station canceled
Bozo’s Circus
in 1963, Goldstein hired its star — Willard Scott, later the weatherman on NBC’s
Today
show — to invent a new clown who could make restaurant appearances. An ad agency designed the outfit, Scott came up with the name Ronald McDonald, and a star was born. Two years later the McDonald’s Corporation introduced Ronald McDonald to the rest of the United States through a major ad campaign. But Willard Scott no longer played the part. He was deemed too overweight; McDonald’s wanted someone thinner to sell its burgers, shakes, and fries.

The late-1960s expansion of the McDonald’s restaurant chain coincided with declining fortunes at the Walt Disney Company. Disney was no longer alive, and his vision of America embodied just about everything that kids of the sixties were rebelling against. Although McDonald’s was hardly a promoter of whole foods and psychedelia, it had the great advantage of seeming new — and there was something trippy about Ronald McDonald, his clothes, and his friends. As Mc-Donald’s mascot began to rival Mickey Mouse in name recognition, Kroc made plans to create his own Disneyland. He was a highly competitive man who liked, whenever possible, to settle the score. “If they were drowning to death,” Kroc once said about his business rivals, “I would put a hose in their mouth.” He planned to buy 1,500 acres of
land northeast of Los Angeles and build a new amusement park there. The park, tentatively called Western World, would have a cowboy theme. Other McDonald’s executives opposed the idea, worried that Western World would divert funds from the restaurant business and lose millions. Kroc offered to option the land with his own money, but finally listened to his close advisers and scrapped the plan. The McDonald’s Corporation later considered buying Astro World in Houston. Instead of investing in a large theme park, the company pursued a more decentralized approach. It built small Playlands and McDonaldlands all over the United States.

The fantasy world of McDonaldland borrowed a good deal from Walt Disney’s Magic Kingdom. Don Ament, who gave McDonaldland its distinctive look, was a former Disney set designer. Richard and Robert Sherman — who had written and composed, among other things, all the songs in Disney’s
Mary Poppins
, Disneyland’s “It’s a Great, Big, Beautiful Tomorrow” and “It’s a Small World, After All” — were enlisted for the first McDonaldland commercials. Ronald McDonald, Mayor McCheese, and the other characters in the ads made McDonald’s seem like more than just another place to eat. McDonaldland — with its hamburger patch, apple pie trees, and Filet-O-Fish fountain — had one crucial thing in common with Disneyland. Almost everything in it was for sale. McDonald’s soon loomed large in the imagination of toddlers, the intended audience for the ads. The restaurant chain evoked a series of pleasing images in a youngster’s mind: bright colors, a playground, a toy, a clown, a drink with a straw, little pieces of food wrapped up like a present. Kroc had succeeded, like his old Red Cross comrade, at selling something intangible to children, along with their fries.