Except for going up from a nickel to 15¢, Cracker Jacks have resisted change—same box, same syrup-coated popcorn and peanuts and, as the old come-on went, "a prize in each and every pack." The awesome corporate responsibility of selecting those prizes is in the manicured hands these days of 27-year-old, Iowa-born Susan Reedquist. A Cracker Jack fan since the age of 5, Susan still remembers her first prize: a small plastic refrigerator with a door that really opened.
Cracker Jacks date back to 1872, the brainstorm of a German immigrant, but they were not so named until 1896, three years after their smash success at the Chicago Exposition. Prizes were added in 1912. Susan came to the firm four years ago as a summer secretary while teaching art in grade school. She had been there only two months when she was offered the job of head prize-picker. She grabbed it. "I love toys, I love to play games. It's a blend of my hobbies and my educational background. I doubt if I'll ever find such a perfect fit again."
An ambitious woman who wants to own a small company some day, Susan is currently studying after hours for a master's degree in business administration. Her figure is svelte enough to allow her to munch Cracker Jacks without concern at coffee breaks, and she has used old prizes at home for napkin holders and Christmas tree ornaments. Her responsibility is considerable: the budget for prizes is more than $2 million. (Some two million boxes of Cracker Jacks are turned out each day, at a cost of less than half a cent per prize.) Susan works with manufacturers who come up with ideas for prizes and she also creates some of her own. Cracker Jack's "build a scene" sticker series was Susan's concept, as was its new line of tiny books, on such subjects as gerbils, world records and a collection of "knock knock" jokes.
"Each prize must be easily usable and fun-provoking," Susan explains solemnly, and she tests new trinkets on children first. The prizes must also conform to government safety regulations, particularly those concerning toys that can be swallowed. Susan keeps a mock-up of a child's esophagus in her office, so each toy can be tested for swallowability—one reason why yesteryear's whistles and charms have been phased out in favor of books, stickers and write-on pads. "We really are conscientious about getting different prizes in," Susan says, adding a word of assurance to all bottom-first openers: "No two boxes in a row contain the same prize."
Saved by the Bell Reunion
The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires
The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!
