At the very outset of his storekeeping, John Wanamaker did what almost
any other business man would have stood aghast at. He chose the best
man he knew as a salesman in the clothing business in Philadelphia,
and agreed to pay him $1,350 a year,—one-third of the entire capital
of the new concern. It seemed reckless extravagance. And there were
other employees, too. What could Mr. Wanamaker be thinking of to make
the promise of this great sum just for one assistant! This move that
seemed so audacious was really a very wise one; for, when the new
employee went with Mr. Wanamaker to New York to buy goods, the fact of
his association added credit to the young house and so a little money
was eked out with a good deal more of credit, and a very fair stock
of goods was laid in. This was just as the war began. Oak Hall was a
success from the start. Possibly, under the circumstances, any sort of
a clothing venture that had fair backing would have been a success. But
no ordinary concern could have grown so rapidly and so healthfully as
Oak Hall grew.
And right here another characteristic of Mr. Wanamaker’s makeup
strikingly manifested itself; _he was not bound by precedent_. No
matter how time-honored a business method might be if it did not strike
him as the wisest, he put it aside at once. And from the first he
fully appreciated the importance of attracting public attention. As a
boy he had published “Everybody’s Journal,”—a hodge-podge of odd bits
with dabs of original matter; notable then and now mainly because it
indicated the bent of the young mind. At Oak Hall the same spirit
of innovation was continually shown. It has often been told how Mr.
Wanamaker delivered his first order in a wheelbarrow, and put the money
($38) into an advertisement in “The Inquirer.” But this was only one
instance significant of the man.
“WAKING UP” A TOWN.
Philadelphia awoke one morning to find “W. & B.” in the form of
six-inch square posters stuck up all over the town. There was not
another letter, no hint, just “W. & B.” Such things are common enough
now, but then the whole city was soon talking and wondering what this
sign meant. After a few days, a second poster modestly stated that
Wanamaker & Brown had begun to sell clothing at Oak Hall.
Of course the young firm got business rapidly. When any man gets out
of a rut and in the direction of more enterprise, it helps him. Before
long there were great signs, each 100 feet in length, painted on
special fences built in a dozen places about the city, particularly
near the railroad stations. These told of the new firm and were the
first of a class that are now seen all over the country. New ideas
in advertising were cropping out. In time balloons more than twenty
feet high were sent up, and a suit of clothes was given to each person
who brought one of them back. Whole counties were stirred up by the
balloons. It was grand advertising, imitated since by all sorts of
people. When the balloon idea struck the Oak Hall management it was
quickly found that the only way to get these air-ships was to make
them, and so, on the roof of the store, the cotton cloth was cut and
oiled and put together. Being well built, and tied very tightly at the
neck, they made long flights and some of them were used over and over
again. In one instance, a balloon remained for more than six months
in a cranberry swamp, and when the great bag was discovered, slowly
swaying in the breeze, among the bushes, the frightened Jerseymen
thought they had come upon an elephant, or, maybe, a survivor of the
mastodons. This made more advertising of the very best kind for the
clothing store,—the kind that excites interested, complimentary talk.