Finding Betty Crocker Read online

  FINDING Betty Crocker

  The Secret Life of America’s First Lady of Food

  Susan Marks

  Simon & Schuster New York London Toronto Sudney

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  Copyright © 2005 by Susan Marks

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  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Marks, Susan.

  Finding Betty Crocker : the secret life of America’s first lady of food/ Susan Marks.

  p. cm.

  1. Crocker, Betty—Biography. 2. Cookery. I. Title.

  TX649.C76M37 2005

  641.5973—dc22

  2004061566

  ISBN-13: 978-0-743-26501-0

  eISBN-13: 978-1-439-10401-9

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  For my dear Mrs. Springer and her daughter

  Contents

  Introduction

  One. The Making of an American Myth

  Two. Betty Goes Hollywood

  Three. On Betty’s Watch

  Four. Bake Someone Happy

  Five. Just Add Water!

  Six. Kitchens of the World

  Seven. Strangely Familiar

  Notes 247

  Acknowledgments

  Finding Betty Crocker

  Introduction

  The day before the Fourth of July, I stopped by my parents’ house and was not surprised to find my mother busy in the kitchen, baking a red-, white-, and blue-layered cake from Betty Crocker mixes.

  “Do you remember when I thought you were Betty Crocker?” I asked.

  My mother smiled. “I sure do.”

  “You were about seven,” she recalled, “and it was your turn to bring the treat bucket to your Brownie troop meeting. Instead of buying something, I thought it would be fun to bake cookies together. So I found a chocolate chip cookie recipe from my files called ‘Betty Crocker’s Bisquickies.’”

  “You seemed delighted, so I suggested we bake another batch sometime,” my mother explained. “Then you stood right here at the kitchen counter and started flipping through my Betty Crocker cookbook and became convinced that Betty’s picture was actually me.”

  While my mother and I baked the Bisquickies, she shared her childhood memories of an ongoing debate about Betty Crocker. Was she a real person? Household opinion was deeply divided. In the spring of 1950, my grandma wrote to Betty Crocker for some advice on meal planning and received a reply in return. But, she wondered, was the letter signed “Cordially yours” truly from “Betty” herself?

  Absolutely, thought my mother, because Betty had her own radio show and cake mixes. Years later, a women’s magazine called Betty “an ageless thirty-two.” As a kid, my mother’s powers of reason were wholeheartedly straightforward. In her mind, “ageless” was proof that Betty Crocker had an age, just as any real woman did. But my grandmother still wasn’t so sure.

  Fast-forward to 1998: my grandmother was visiting from out of town. She was thrilled to hear that I was writing a book on Betty Crocker and promised to bring Betty Crocker recipe booklets on her next visit. As we sat and talked, memories came flooding back. For years, she saved Betty Crocker coupon “points” to help my mom fill her hope chest with Betty’s Oneida “My Rose” silver pattern. I was surprised to hear my grandmother speak of how controversial cake mixes such as Betty’s were when they first came on the market.

  With her next visit came an unexpected surprise. Standing in my parents’ kitchen, my grandmother handed me something she had cherished since 1950. It was that letter from Betty Crocker. For the first time in my life, I was speechless.

  I never imagined that this little piece of history would survive all these years. So much of culinary history is steeped in an oral tradition—mothers teaching daughters, who in turn share their stories of kitchen wisdom with daughters of their own. But Betty Crocker had a hand in changing all that. Before cookbooks and recipe files were commonplace, Betty encouraged my grandma, and millions of Americans like her, to write in search of answers, guidance, or friendly advice.

  Into this great divide stepped Betty Crocker with her kitchen inspirational, “You can do it, and I can help you.” Empowered by her words, countless women—and men—made a collective connection, not to Betty Crocker the corporate symbol, but to Betty Crocker the person. But who was she, really? Finding Betty Crocker chronicles an American search for her identity that stretches over fifty states and across the turn of a century.

  Betty Crocker

  General Mills, Inc., Home Service Department

  Minneapolis 1, Minnesota

  May 19, 1950

  My dear Mrs. Springer,

  It was most kind of you to write and tell me how much you enjoy using our PARTYCAKE Mix. I was glad to know it came to the rescue when your daughter requested some cupcake May baskets. The little cakes must have looked very pretty with their colored icing and the ribbon boes.

  You will find that the PARTYCAKE Mix, DEVILS FOOD CAKE Mix are all grand time savers. Each one makes a delicious cake which your family and your friends are sure to enjoy.

  The bulletins you asked for are being sent to you under separate cover. I hope you find our suggestions helpful in your meal planning.

  Cordially yours,

  “Born” in 1921 in Minneapolis, Minnesota, to proud corporate parents, Betty Crocker has grown, over eight decades, into one of the most successful branding campaigns the world has ever known. In 1945, Fortune magazine named her the second most popular American woman, right behind Eleanor Roosevelt, and dubbed Betty America’s First Lady of Food. And in 2000, an Adweek poll revealed that a majority “voted” for Betty Crocker in a mock presidential contest, beating out a ballot of five other (Mr. Clean, Mr. Goodwrench, Aunt Jemima, Ronald McDonald, and Cap’n Crunch) brand icons.

  What is it about Betty that has motivated so many Americans to award her a place in their hearts and minds? The sheer magnitude—and longevity—of her popularity speaks volumes of the need she has fulfilled in countless lives. Millions have traveled to Minneapolis to tour the Betty Crocker Kitchens, hoping to catch a glimpse of this beloved national icon. And more than a few devoted fans left in tears when they discovered it was impossible to meet her.

  But to all the people she’s helped, instructed, and even inspired, Betty Crocker has heart. And so she lives on. As for her enduring appeal, perhaps this Depression-era radio listener expressed it best, “Your talks, Betty Crocker, have given me hope.”

  Chapter One The making of american Myth

  Slip-Slide Custard Pie

  Custard Pie is known as “Nervous” or “Quaking Pie” in New England because it quivers and shakes. We used to call it “Soggy-crust Pie,” too, until a unique slip-slide trick was devised. Here’s how to do it!

  Baked 9” Pie Shell

  4 eggs (or 8 egg yolks)

  ⅔ cup sugar

  ½ tsp. salt

  ¼ tsp. nutmeg

  2⅔ cups scalding hot milk

  1 tsp. vanilla, if desired

  Heat oven to 350°. Beat eggs slightly. Beat in sugar, salt, nutmeg, milk, vanilla. Pour into ungreased 9” pie pan. Set pie pan in shallow pan of hot water. B
ake 30 to 35 min., just until a sliver knife inserted into filling 1” from edge comes out clean. The center may look a bit soft but will set later. When lukewarm, loosen custard from pan with knife or spatula. Shake gently to loosen completely. Slip custard into cooled baked pie shell. Let settle a few minutes before serving.

  From Gold Medal Jubilee, Select Recipes, 1880-1955: A treasury of favorite recipes modernized by Betty Crocker

  Betty Crocker, happy homemaking, and cake mixes are almost synonymous with 1950s American kitchen kitsch, but Betty originally belonged to an entirely different generation. She made her auspicious debut in the roaring twenties thanks to a jigsaw puzzle and the lure of a prize pincushion. The advertising campaign was the brainchild of the Washburn Crosby Company of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Founded in 1877, the company, a forerunner of General Mills, Inc., was the purveyor of Gold Medal Flour. In October 1921, an ad for the brand appeared on the back of the Saturday Evening Post, featuring jumbled puzzle pieces—and a premium giveaway. Contestants arranged the cutouts into a small-town main street scene with happy townspeople going about their daily business in view of a prominently displayed sign for Gold Medal Flour.

  A pincushion resembling a miniature Gold Medal Flour sack proved an intoxicating lure. Rather unexpectedly, the milling staff found themselves scrambling to honor the 30,000 completed puzzles received by return post. What arrived along with the puzzles was even more surprising: hundreds of letters asking, “How long should I knead dough?,” “What’s a good recipe for apple pie?,” and “Why does my cake fall?”

  Normally, Washburn Crosby handled its trickle of consumer mail through its small, in-house advertising department. Under the direction of the department manager, Samuel Gale, the all-male advertising staff would gather professional cooking advice and recipes from the all-female Gold Medal Home Service staff, then forward the information to inquiring customers. However, Gale never felt comfortable signing his own name to such letters; he lamented that women did not want advice from a man, who presumably did not know his way around the kitchen.

  The puzzle that started it all. This 1921 advertising contest, sponsored by Gold Medal Flour, ran in the Saturday Evening Post, generating 30,000 responses, several hundred of which included personal pleas to the Washburn Crosby Company for kitchen guidance.

  Kitchen or no, Gale was facing either a public relations fiasco or the creative opportunity of a lifetime. Envisioning a female chief of correspondence, Gale and his supervisor, James Quint, convinced the company’s directors that the Gold Medal Home Service staff was in need of a new member. Neither résumés nor interviews would be required, however, as the perfect applicant was sheer invention.

  The first order of business was to choose a name for this fictitious woman. The surname “Crocker” was in honor of William G. Crocker, a recently retired and well-loved director of the Washburn Crosby Company. And “Betty” sounded cheery, wholesome, and folksy. The pairing produced a simple and unforgettable name that would one day lead the sweet ranks of America’s baked-goods royalty—Duncan Hines, Sara Lee, Dolly Madison, and Little Debbie.

  To further personalize Betty, Gale held an informal contest among Washburn Crosby’s female employees for the most distinctive Betty Crocker signature. The winner was a secretary named Florence Lindeberg, a variation of whose plain but pretty script still adorns all Betty Crocker products. Eager to strengthen customer relations—and to introduce Betty Crocker publicly—Washburn Crosby made it company policy that every single letter regarding recipes, cooking, baking, or domestic advice receive a prompt reply with Betty’s signature. Following the puzzle contest, consumer mail steadily increased in volume, making it necessary for Lindeberg to train numerous female employees in the proper way to sign Betty’s replies.

  The Betty Mystique

  No one could have predicted that Betty Crocker’s signature would still be appearing into the next century. Yet from the beginning, the general public had every reason to believe that Betty Crocker was real. From the personalized greeting to the closing of “Cordially yours,” a letter from Betty Crocker felt like the genuine article. As routine writers to Washburn Crosby discovered, not only was Betty a gracious correspondent who displayed a keen interest in making women’s lives a little easier, but her replies could be counted upon to be informative, prompt, and discreet. By sending her suggestions and recipes directly to homemakers, Betty kept their kitchen confessionals completely confidential—safe from the prying eyes of friend, neighbor, or mother-in-law. Like a trusted friend, or even a mother, Betty could be counted upon never to pass judgment, always to give freely of her wisdom and advice.

  Betty’s usefulness in the kitchen rose in tandem with the twentieth-century electrical and industrial innovations that would forever alter the time-honored traditions of home and hearth. As the historian Susan Strasser has noted, those “big, shiny pieces of equipment” like washing machines and refrigerators “saved labor, but they also made work … that tended to isolate women in the home.” It was precisely this juxtaposition that made Betty’s guidance indispensable to navigating the transition between kitchens past and present.

  While Betty became famous for touting the “modern way” to run a kitchen, her philosophy remained deeply grounded in nostalgia. In a reissue of Washburn Crosby’s 1910 Gold Medal Cook Book, Betty Crocker eulogized those bygone days before she was “born”: “The year of 1910 was a time when the cook of the house spent much of her day in the kitchen preparing meals for a large, hungry family. That was the time when she prepared from scratch her own bread, ice cream, soups, sauces … even mayonnaise!”

  Betty Crocker wasn’t Washburn Crosby’s only cover girl. The company used a series of ads with maids and housewives to sell flour, including this one for Superlative Flour.

  Ask the Expert

  While Betty Crocker is a classic, she is not, in fact, an original. A longtime advertising mainstay, “expert” advice was popularized in the late nineteenth century. One notorious purveyor was Lydia Pinkham, who in 1875 chose her own matronly portrait as a means to market her herbal tonic—Lydia E. Pinkham Vegetable Compound—whose “healthful” ingredients happened to include forty-proof alcohol.

  Early-twentieth-century admakers capitalized on the popularity of the late-nineteenth-century domestic science movement and the turn-of-the-century home economics movement by elevating influential females, such as the renowned home economist Fannie Farmer, to the position of trusted national experts. The push to feminize product presentation made sense, considering women controlled 80 to 85 percent of consumer spending.

  The pages of product-related brochures, newspapers, and popular women’s magazines were an open forum for such expert opinion makers, who were hired to endorse domestic products, write product-specific cookbooks, and give advice, blurring the line between paid advertising and honest testimony. “At Miss Farmer’s Famous School of Cookery in Boston,” ran one such product placement, “for the regular class and demonstration work of the school, only Royal Baking Powder is used…. Only 2¢ worth of Royal makes a large layer cake lusciously light and tender.” Home cooks were invited to send away for “the famous Royal Cook Book—over 350 delicious, tested recipes for all kinds of foods.”

  In the early 1920s, Washburn Crosby “Home Service” field representatives traversed the nation, demonstrating the many uses for Gold Medal Flour.

  Upon her debut in 1921, Betty Crocker added her voice to a chorus of female domestic experts—Mary Dale Anthony for S.O.S. scouring pads; Mary Hale Martin for Libby’s; and Aunt Sammy (Uncle Sam’s wife) for the U.S. Bureau of Home Economics. These and all “personal advisers” were presented as actual women, but only a few were. The distinction seemed of little consequence.

  The Flour Wars

  The allure of Betty Crocker resided in her practical, thoughtful, and timely messages. Washburn Crosby’s Sam Gale cited a busy college lifestyle as the reason young women missed the “apprenticeship of the stove” as traditionally
taught by mother and grandmother. To some extent, he was right. The prize was a rich one for a company that could deliver the perfect product, via the perfect representative.

  In 1920, the population of the United States was approaching 106 million and a typical family spent hundreds of dollars a year on meat, vegetables, eggs, and flour. Competition for flour dollars was fierce, as Gold Medal, Pillsbury, and others sought to win over Mrs. America and create brand loyalty.

  In 1924, Pillsbury Flour Mills—the Minneapolis-based company whose “Family of Foods” included Pillsbury’s Best Flour, Pancake Flour, Buckwheat Pancake Flour, Health Bran, Wheat Cereal, Rye Flour, Graham Flour, and Farina—featured the “Eat More Wheat” slogan created in 1923 by Washburn Crosby. Consumers were invited to “Pour a little Pillsbury’s Pancake Flour into your hand. Note the creamy-white color due to Pillsbury’s high-grade flours. Rub it with your finger—see how smooth it is—its fine velvety texture.”

  Inglehart Brothers millers of Evansville, Indiana, also stood by the quality of their Swans Down brand, “twenty-seven times as fine as good bread flour.” A 1925 advertising campaign added, “It takes 100 pounds of the finest wheat to make 26 pounds of Swans Down. There’s nothing to it but wheat, the choicest to be bought. Not one atom of corn starch or any other ingredient has been added.”

  For the Aunt Jemima Mills Company (purchased by the Quaker Oats Company in 1925), quantity and quality went hand in hand. A January 1924 advertisement announced: “Over 500 million Aunt Jemima Pancakes were served last year.” In March of that same year, readers learned “What Aunt Jemima’s Secret Was.” Success was in the ingredients: “Aunt Jemima didn’t use ordinary flour for her pancakes; she used a special kind, an exceptionally fine grade of wheat flour. And then she mixed with it smaller quantities of other flours seldom found in stores today.”