Likable Lilliputian

Madison Avenue's stock formula for a TV commercial is made up of varying parts of humor and pixy dust, with perhaps a base of fact. That formula has worked spectacularly for Dr Pepper, a fruit-flavored soft drink that has been a staple for generations in the South and Southwest, but was unknown elsewhere five years ago. Since then it has expanded nationwide, taking chunks of such sophisticated markets as New York, Chicago and Los Angeles away from Coke and Pepsi. Its chief assault has been made by an ad campaign that presents Dr Pepper Co. as a likable Lilliputian, desperately trying to market "America's most misunderstood soft drink."

The ads, prepared by Young & Rubicam, frankly admit that "Dr Pepper" sounds like the name of a fiery patent medicine. In fact, though the drink was concocted in 1885 by a Waco, Texas, druggist and named after his physician father-in-law, it looks like a cola and tastes like a blend of cola, cherry and cream soda. The commercials stress the theme that, though many people are reluctant to try it, they like it once they take the plunge. Their approaches range from the outrageous (a Latin dictator besieged in his palace by a howling mob demanding that he take a sip) to the smirking (a lothario urging an innocent girl to "come on" try it, while she purrs the puritan objection: "My parents." Not until the end of the commercial is it made entirely clear that they are talking about Dr Pepper).

The ads have been at least as successful as they are amusing. In the past five years, Dr Pepper has risen from the nation's sixth to its fourth largest-selling soft drink. The company's sales have doubled, to $63 million, and profits have risen even more, to $6.7 million. Dr Pepper's success has not gone unnoticed by its competitors. Last week Coca-Cola began test marketing Mr. PiBB, a similar fruit-flavored drink, right in Dr Pepper's own backyard. Texas and Mississippi.

Canny Foots. Dr Pepper's northern invasion was started by W.W. Clements, who began as a route salesman and was then marketing vice president; he became president in 1969. Clements is a strict Alabama Baptist who likes to be called by his childhood nickname of "Foots." In between slugging down at least ten Dr Peppers a day and puffing on as many fat cigars, he blurts out a cracker-barrel version of the ads' philosophy: "Once I get Dr Pepper down their throats and tell them about it, I'm in business." He is a canny marketer in other ways. To distribute Dr Pepper a few years ago, Clements began signing up a string of independent Coke and Pepsi bottlers, including giant Coca-Cola Bottling Co. of New York, Inc. Coke and Pepsi may have been furious, but in 1966 the Food and Drug Administration declared that Dr Pepper was not a cola, thereby eliminating the threat of antitrust action against the bottlers if they decided to take it on.

Next year, Clements' marketing savvy will be tested on new ground. The company plans to expand into Mexico, as well as into Japan and other Far Eastern nations. Its key problem will be translating into Spanish and Japanese the wry ad approach that has so captivated Northerners in the U.S.

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