“May I submit UTOPIAN TURTLETOP? Do not trouble to answer unless you like it.”—Poet Marianne Moore, to Ford Motor Co. marketing employee Bob Young, proposing a name for the automaker’s new model, later known as “The Edsel,” December 8, 1955
What a character, that modernist poet Marianne Moore was! One of the most amusing—and enlightening –aspects of her life was her involvement in the pre-launch thinking behind, arguably, one of the Ford Motor Company’s biggest initiatives—and, inarguably, its great P.R. disaster—of all time.
In the midst of creating a major brand that, it hoped, would become "the smart car for the younger executive or professional family on its way up," the automaker became antsy about the inconclusive results from marketing research about its experimental car.
What a character, that modernist poet Marianne Moore was! One of the most amusing—and enlightening –aspects of her life was her involvement in the pre-launch thinking behind, arguably, one of the Ford Motor Company’s biggest initiatives—and, inarguably, its great P.R. disaster—of all time.
In the midst of creating a major brand that, it hoped, would become "the smart car for the younger executive or professional family on its way up," the automaker became antsy about the inconclusive results from marketing research about its experimental car.
The head of marketing then wrote to Moore—whose Collected Poems had nailed down just about every major award just a few years ago—canvassing her opinion. If all her awards didn’t indicate she had a way with words—well, what on earth would? And he must have felt he had really struck gold when, it turned out, Moore turned out to be not just a hired gun but a longtime satisfied Ford customer.
Moore had another kind of reputation in the community of writers, though: for eccentricity. (Though that was hardly unusual among poets, then or now.) The striking tricorner hat and black cape she wore at baseball games and boxing matches (late in life, she adored the New York Yankees and Muhammad Ali) didn’t begin to open the possibilities of her…um…creativity.
This writing request did.
What fascinates me about this particular coinage of Moore’s is the fact that it concluded a whole series of names hardly less unusual. One actually was pretty good: “Chaparral.” Another, sent in despite the disagreement of her brother, was “Turcotinga.”
But how would you, Faithful Reader, have picked from among the following: “Silver Sword", "Thundercrest" (and "Thundercrester"), "Resilient Bullit", "Intelligent Whale", "Pastelogram", "Andante con Moto", "Varsity Stroke", and "Mongoose Civique"?
“Utopian Turtletop,” however, appears to have been the deal-breaker. Disregarding the poet’s advice, marketing exec Bob Moore did reply to the suggestion, though the two dozen roses he sent to the woman he described as Ford’s “Top Turtletop” couldn’t really disguise his rejection of her work.
It’s probably just as well that Ford politely turned down the suggestion. When the new brand premiered a little over a year after Moore’s idea was received, Americans decisively turned thumbs down on the automaker’s model, and were glad to do so to a car whose number of letters equaled that of another term that more exactly expressed their feelings: “lemon.”
“Edsel,” a spur-of-the-moment suggestion that appealed mightily to the latter’s son, Henry Ford II, became shorthand for business waterloos.
One of the things about true creative types, like Ms. Moore, however, is the sheer fecundity and generosity of their creative spurts. Besides her jaw-dropping list of suggestions, other such examples include Emily Dickinson’s 13 variations on the kind of preacher who’d appeal to fun-loving American boys” (the winner: “warbling,” edging out the likes of “typic,” “bonnie” and “ardent”) or Sean Penn’s ad-libs for his stoned surfer character Jeff Spicoli beholding a morgue specimen in Fast Times at Ridgemont High (the term “Grody” edged out “gnarly”).
Moore had another kind of reputation in the community of writers, though: for eccentricity. (Though that was hardly unusual among poets, then or now.) The striking tricorner hat and black cape she wore at baseball games and boxing matches (late in life, she adored the New York Yankees and Muhammad Ali) didn’t begin to open the possibilities of her…um…creativity.
This writing request did.
What fascinates me about this particular coinage of Moore’s is the fact that it concluded a whole series of names hardly less unusual. One actually was pretty good: “Chaparral.” Another, sent in despite the disagreement of her brother, was “Turcotinga.”
But how would you, Faithful Reader, have picked from among the following: “Silver Sword", "Thundercrest" (and "Thundercrester"), "Resilient Bullit", "Intelligent Whale", "Pastelogram", "Andante con Moto", "Varsity Stroke", and "Mongoose Civique"?
“Utopian Turtletop,” however, appears to have been the deal-breaker. Disregarding the poet’s advice, marketing exec Bob Moore did reply to the suggestion, though the two dozen roses he sent to the woman he described as Ford’s “Top Turtletop” couldn’t really disguise his rejection of her work.
It’s probably just as well that Ford politely turned down the suggestion. When the new brand premiered a little over a year after Moore’s idea was received, Americans decisively turned thumbs down on the automaker’s model, and were glad to do so to a car whose number of letters equaled that of another term that more exactly expressed their feelings: “lemon.”
“Edsel,” a spur-of-the-moment suggestion that appealed mightily to the latter’s son, Henry Ford II, became shorthand for business waterloos.
One of the things about true creative types, like Ms. Moore, however, is the sheer fecundity and generosity of their creative spurts. Besides her jaw-dropping list of suggestions, other such examples include Emily Dickinson’s 13 variations on the kind of preacher who’d appeal to fun-loving American boys” (the winner: “warbling,” edging out the likes of “typic,” “bonnie” and “ardent”) or Sean Penn’s ad-libs for his stoned surfer character Jeff Spicoli beholding a morgue specimen in Fast Times at Ridgemont High (the term “Grody” edged out “gnarly”).
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