But the way to engage a customer's emotions, the consultant stressed, was to animate the company -- create a personality for it. Those words spurred Kahl to hatch the "webbed warrior," as Manco's corporate symbol is sometimes called. Around 1980 he began experimenting -- very tentatively, at first -- with the Manco Duck.
Kahl couldn't help noticing that consumers, in their letters, mistakenly referred to his main product as "duck tape." (Actually, they were more correct than they knew; the tape was originally made from a tightly-woven material called duck cloth.) So, he wondered, why not use a duck to sell the tape?
There were good reasons, according to some market researchers Kahl hired. With roughly 20% of consumers, they predicted, that would be one dead duck. Best not to incite negative feelings with such a large portion of the market, the experts advised. To Kahl and Corbo, however, 80% of the market sounded big enough. "We believed in the duck," says Kahl. Not overwhelmingly, though; for a few years, Manco simply affixed a small, lifeless drawing of a baby duck to its packaging. Sales soared from about $8 million in 1979 to $11 million in 1980; by 1982 Manco was grossing nearly $25 million.
Eventually, Kahl, studying the development of Mickey (né Mortimer) Mouse, set off to explore the greater potential of his fine-feathered friend. To make the duck come alive, Kahl worked with a designer, endowing it with soft features and big, round eyes. "The look in the duck's eyes is slightly vulnerable," he explains. "It says, Take care of me. With their protective instincts aroused, consumers feel warmly about the company."
From there, the duck seemed to develop a wardrobe of its own. The do-it-yourself duck, for instance, carried a hammer and wore a painter's hat; the weather-stripping duck donned earmuffs and a scarf; the duck promoting CareMail, Manco's line of mailing and shipping goods, lugged around a mailbag. There was a three-foot duck at trade shows, an eight-inch cardboard duck for point-of-purchase displays, and stuffed ducks to hand out to buyers and send to ruffled consumers. There are even humans who don duck costumes, waddling through personal appearances and occasionally bursting into a song about "duck tape," as Manco now labels it. So protective is Kahl of his company's symbol that he once sent back 3,000 ducks because, he claims, "the eyes looked mean."
Disney, though, helped Kahl with more than creating his alter ego. Mindful of the need to engage all the senses, Kahl also made changes in packaging, switching to a sturdier cardboard and a thicker polyethylene bag. Manco began shrink-wrapping its tape so consumers could separate the rolls without using an ax. And Kahl added such tiny details as a history of duct tape on the back of the label and a brightly colored design on the inside core. It costs an extra quarter of a cent per roll, but "it has a subliminal effect. It's part of an image," Kahl insists. He even gave special attention to the sound of duct tape, the scrunch that it makes as consumers unroll it. Kahl chose all-natural rubber adhesives, as opposed to reclaimed or synthetic rubber, and added a special chemical coating for extra resistance. "People equate that kind of toughness with strength," he says.
Given Manco's growth, it's no wonder that Kahl refers to the duck as "Dale Carnegie in feathers." He adds: "A big fuzzy friendly duck says, Buy me. And the duck conveys that this is a company that cares about what it does. After all, we went to the trouble of creating it."
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Wal-Mart Stores Inc.: Communication and Leadership
Kahl and Corbo set a new direction for Manco in 1978, when they composed their manifesto. They understood exactly where they wanted the company to go -- away from industrial customers and onto the retail floor, away from shoddy products and toward quality -- but they had a hard time getting their 35 or so employees to sign on. "The company wasn't knit together," admits Kahl. Nerves were getting more and more frayed. At one point Kahl's anger drove him to smash his fist into a wall, shattering two of his knuckles.
Kahl's frustrations didn't come from dreaming about a better way. He witnessed firsthand a company that worked "as one great, exciting team" every time he was invited to a Saturday meeting in Bentonville, Ark., where Wal-Mart, Manco's top customer, is based. At those meetings, says Kahl, "all the walls came down and people could slow down, dress in jeans, and see the bigger picture." He tried to describe the feeling to his employees, but, he says, "everybody was running so fast, all I could do was grab one person at a time."
Until 1982 he hesitated to institute such a get-together because he feared his employees would quit rather than show up. But when he went ahead with the company-wide meeting, some did appear, and attendance has stabilized at about 45 people now that Kahl has switched the meeting to Thursday night.
At noon on the day of the big meeting, Manco's six-member executive committee meets for two or three hours. "We learn everywhere," says Kahl. "At the meeting, we collect that learning." And they act on it. Four years ago one executive reported that Wal-Mart seemed interested in carrying shipping materials like boxes and bubble wrap. Within two weeks Manco had conceived its CareMail line; four months later it was in the stores. CareMail now represents nearly 25% of sales.
Kahl sometimes invites guest speakers, ranging from chairmen of Fortune 500 companies to an inspirational race-car driver. Kahl himself has been known to carry on at length. His sons -- aside from John, 26-year-old Bill serves as national accounts manager -- planted an hourglass on the table in front of him. But Kahl just stops talking long enough to flip it.
The larger meeting begins shortly after 5:00. Anyone can attend. Salespeople give reports on their territories. "We tell employees everything," says Corbo. "We don't hold back." Someone may bring in a magazine or newspaper article that merits discussion. On one recent Thursday, Kathleen Matkovic, a telemarketer, brought in a photo of one store's special CareMail display. To spark ideas, Kahl may ask everyone to watch a film; he recently screened the 10 best TV commercials, leading to a talk about humor and emotion as selling tools. The meeting ends by 7:30. Often, though, employees retire afterward to nearby Getty's Bar. "A real bond develops," says Kahl.
