Class News

George Odell '64 on the history of Burma Shave signs

George Odell was interviewed on NPR about the Burma Shave signs created by his father and grandfather. The following newspaper article pertains.

[Webmaster's note: George Odell died on October 14, 2011. Read his obituary.]

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Their roadside signs, once far and wide, now only can be seen online

Boston Globe
April 6, 2002

They were the colorful sets of signs, strung four or five at a time, along America's Blue Highways, major roads back then, veins rather than arteries now.

I recall only one set from my boyhood in New Hampshire, on Route 4, just south of Danbury on a straight stretch of road just past where a bridge took us above the tracks of the B&M railroad.

My father, Newt, tells me that this is what the sequence of signs said:

They all ended with the signature name of America's first brushless shaving cream, and they were one of the most innovative advertising adventures the country has seen. They became pert of our culture, our heritage.

Newt remembers a second set in New Hampshire, this one in Franklin:

That was the thing about the Burma-Shave signs: Although you came to know the name at the end, you never knew what message would lead to It. It might be whimsy, male-female relations, driver safety, history, a poke at those who refuse to shave their beards, or even a slightly ribald jingle that, today, might be considered politically incorrect.

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These wooden slabs of Americana came about, according to a history of the signs, when a young man named Allan Odell convinced his doubting father, Clinton, that the company's moribund business might be boosted by putting up roadside signs.

According to Frank Rowson, Jr. in "Verse by the Side of the Road," Odell purchased used lumber, had it cut into 36-inch strips and began putting up his signs, starting around 1926 when the first set went up along Minnesota Route 35 between Albert Lea and Minneapolis.

Local sales took off, and the signs spread across America like kudzu ― except they were a welcome invader. Eventually, according to Rowson, more than 7,000 sets were erected in 45 states. They were maintained by crews driving eight trucks around the country, and they spread warning, wisdom, tonsorial advice, and humor. During World War II, GIs put them up at their postings as a way of reaching back for the familiarity of home.

Today, you can find hundreds of examples of them by cruising, instead of real highways, the Internet. Just do a search for Burma-Shave, and you'll find the Web sites abound.

You'll find those that warn about speeding,

Those about slowing down in school zones:

And obeying the signals at railroad crossings:

There are those that caution about flipping smoking materials from your car windows:

And, of course, the tragically enduring danger of drunken driving,

Then, of course, there were signs dealing with what were not called, in public at least in those days, sexual relations ―meaning if you didn't shave regularly, or grew a beard, you'd go home alone a lot. Dates went unmade, marriages went unvowed.

Consider:

Or this near-miss:

And this cold decision that left an altar empty:

Some of the slogans would not be found in any advertising today ― not that undergarments and intimate squeezing are not used still, in more lurid yet more subtle form, to sell products.

For Instance:

Or this politically incorrect little ditty:

Others complained of those who would not shave:

And lauded even women who did:

Certainly there were limits. One Web site, noting that the company offered as much as $100 for slogans and jingles submitted by the public, said it never did get around to posting this one:

The signs became so popular that Burma-Shave eventually used one set to play off its own popularity. It read:

And in one ironic note, the company, pushing brushless shaving, also wrote the epitaphs for the very signs on which its messages were printed:

For that is where, today, you have your best chance of seeing an old set of Burma-Shave signs. In 1963, the Odells sold to Philip Morris Inc. and American Safety Razor. By 1966, virtually all 7,000 sets of signs had disappeared from our Blue Highways.