We regularly get boxes full of old papers and stuff from locations across the land.
As people go through the old building and spy an old closet full of old stuff, they
think to themselves—
responsibly, I should add—"this stuff belongs
in the Historical collection!"
It sure does, especially when it is pertinent to the history of
Wells Fargo
and its place in communities since
1852. So we go through the boxes and appraise each piece. We keep the stuff
that contributes to our Company memory. But we have no need for flyers
announcing a bake sale in 1971, nor brochures for a 1982
Honda
that someone couldn't bear to throw
away.
So I was looking over some stuff the other day and I found a piece of actual
history: a genuine, Cold War-era handbill that touted a newsletter, purporting to
be the "Best Private Intelligence Service in Existence." Now, such a claim relies
on one of two basic things: one, they really are the best in
existence; or 2, everyone is so afraid of World War III
they believe anything.
The Cold War
, as you know, was based as much on
the latter as it was on any real threat. People were quite worried about Soviet
ambitions and the spectre of
atomic war
. The newsletter that the handbill
referred to—
available by subscription, and while you're at it, back issues are
available too!—asserted its reputation as the first source for intelligence.
Assembled and published by a man named Kenneth de
Courcy
, the newsletter ostensibly brought the
innermost workings of global intelligence to the attention of the common man. de
Courcy was later
discredited
, but at the height of his publication he
had an office in the Emp
ire State Building
.
Knowing the secrets of international politics, de Courcy's handbill insisted, was
vital to making the right moves in everyday life. "We live in strange times," the
handbill intones. "(F)irst-class intelligence is a condition of success...The citizen
who does not know what is really happening, and what is probably going to
happen, cannot avoid making ghastly mistakes in private life, business and
politics."
One sees the vigilant insurance salesman in Anytown, USA, careful to not buy the
wrong cut of tenderloin, not willing to let the floozy buy him one more sidecar,
checking de Courcy's newletter carefully before voting on a sewer bond issue. All
this in the name of international security, the responsibility of the ordinary man.
Such was the Cold War esprit de l’époque.
There are several titles of the publication referenced in the text of the handbill:
"Review of World Affairs," "Review," "Digest" and "The
World Crisis." But the title of what you're buying isn't anywhere in the piece—not
even on the order blank. The best-kept secret is the actual title of the
darn thing de Courcy is selling!