You May Already Be a Winner!

It’s the season again. Now that the pro football wars have resume, so have the sweepstakes wars. And a year ago, my wife, Carol, and I were on the front lines.

Most of us work hard much of our lives just trying to earn a living. So it’s human nature to look longingly at those who get something for nothing and wish the same for yourself. It needn’t be much. A mere few million would smooth some wrinkles.

Which explains what Carol and I were doing in front of a TV set last Jan. 26.

The Green Bay Packers had just defeated the New England Patriots in another humdrum Super Bowl. But who cared? We had something much more important on our minds than football as we nervously watched the postgame show on Fox, hoping at any moment to simultaneously hear our doorbell ring and see David Sayer and the Prize Patrol pop on the screen live with a fat check and make the glorious symphonic announcement we’d been anticipating for months:

“Carol Rosenberg, you are the new Publishers Clearing House $10-million winner.”

We were on edge awaiting the announcement. “I thought I heard a car outside,” Carol said. She popped up and rushed to a window. I joined her. The cats came, too.

Me: “See a guy with gray hair or a camera crew?”

Her: “Can’t see anything.”

Me: “When are they gonna fix that street light?”

Her: “Sure the doorbell is working?

Me: “They wouldn’t knock anyway?”

Her: “Isn’t that a van?”

Me: “ Look. The TV. M’God, it’s the Prize Patrol.”

How did we--two college-educated, fairly intelligent, reasonably sophisticated persons--reach this pitiful state, standing fingers crossed in front of a TV, hoping for a miracle that would land us on easy street with other Publishers Clearing House millionaires?

Well, the dream is powerful. Even knowing the ridiculous odds, your optimistic inner voice urges you on with the reminder that someone has to win. So you ask: “Why not us?” The answer is another question: “Why not?”

Hence, the vicarious fun of the old TV series about a benevolent geezer with kadzillions who gave a million away each week to average stiffs who didn’t expect it. The psychology of receiving instant riches from a benefactor, if not the altruistic spirit of “The Millionaire,” lives on, not only in the crush of lotteries throughout the nation but also in the swarm of major sweepstakes that stuff U.S. mailboxes with garish offers of prizes and payoffs soaring all the way to $11 million. The two behemoths of this bunch are Publishers Clearing House and American Family Publishers (starring Dick Clark and Ed McMahon).

Although giveaways are the chassis of these direct-mail extravaganzas, their horsepower comes from offers of magazine subscriptions and myriad “money-saving” coupons for products that tumble out of the same envelopes. Profits from the sale of these items go to the sweepstakes companies themselves. That includes a reported 78% to 82% of a magazine’s subscription price, in exchange for which a magazine sees its subscriber base dramatically increased, the volume of which determines its advertising rates.

The sweepstakes say you don’t have to buy anything to win and emphatically vow that in their mailings. Yet psychology and human nature intercede here, for the offers are purposely worded in ways that, disclaimers notwithstanding, create an impression that making a purchase might give you an edge on the multitudes of other, uh, hopefuls. So you reason, why take a chance and not buy?

And those multitudes, by the way, are vast. Tens of millions of sweepstakes entries are mailed to consumers, and many more are mailed endlessly. So wide are these mailings that Reader’s Digest, which runs one of the larger giveaways, estimates that participants have only a 1-in-199.5 million chance of being the lucky needle in the haystack. You have as much chance of bumping into Hillary Clinton at the supermarket.

I had always treated these sweepstakes mailings as junk, automatically throwing them into the trash, unopened. Unfortunately, as fast as I would toss these suckers, Carol would fish them out.

We haggled about this for a long time. But then I also learned from Skeptic, the magazine of the Skeptics Society, that “if you are skeptical about everything, you would have to be skeptical of your own skepticism.”

I read no farther. That was enough for me. Time to get rich.

What follows is a journal of that attempt, our personal odyssey a year ago in search of the Holy Grail of wealth.

Sept. 13: Our hearts thump wildly when the come-on arrives for Carol in a white envelope from Publishers Clearing House, promising exclusivity: “Only one out of five has been approved for $10-million-winner processing. Prize acceptance affidavit enclosed. Zip open here to check your status.”

It also resonates urgency (“Last chance to enter . . . “) and has a personal touch from contest manager Dorothy Addeo.

“Dear Carol Rosenberg:

“It’s a real pleasure to advise you that you are scheduled to win the Ten Million Dollar SuperPrize provided you have met the conditions detailed on the attached declaration.”

She goes on to say that 86% of California families “considered for this opportunity were eliminated when we found they did not match the name selection standards to receive this bulletin. But the Rosenbergs did match . . . and whether or not you now bring the Ten Million Dollar SuperPrize home to (the name of our small Los Angeles suburb) depends on how we proceed from here.”

With this personalized letter from Dorothy, whom we already regard as a dear friend, has come a “Declaration of Intention,” an official looking document resembling a stock certificate that had been signed by her and notarized.

It says that Publishers Clearing House “will declare and proclaim Carol Rosenberg winner of the Ten Million Dollar SuperPrize” if she mails “confirmation” of her “Personal SuperPrize Number” by a certain date and if her number “matches the winning number.”

Dorothy says she hopes to meet Carol in person and “congratulate you on winning $10 million.” She continues: “And if you are indeed the winner, Carol Rosenberg, Dave Sayer and the Prize Patrol will arrive at (our address) with video camera rolling for the entire country to see on TV.” Dorothy promises that “news crews from your local stations” will be there, too.

But here is the thing, Dorothy continues. TV reporters will be asking Dave, “Do most people order when they enter?” Dorothy: “We’d love to be able to say, ‘Carol Rosenberg doesn’t just enter for the prizes. Carol Rosenberg is a smart customer who takes advantage of our unbeatable deals!’ So won’t you please take advantage of your 14-day Free Inspection Privilege and order something at this time?”

We agree that it would be pretty humbling if Dave had to hang his head (if he’s especially fragile, he may even sob) and confess to the news crews that Carol had purchased nothing. Especially as Publishers Clearing House has generously placed at our fingertips an “exciting collection of handpicked values” that are not only fabulous but also easy for ordinary folks like us to buy on the installment plan. They include a Cal Ripken Jr. commemorative baseball (four payments each of only $2.49), a Star Trek Communicator pin (four payments each of only $2.24), a “6 in 1” hose nozzle (also four payments each of only $2.24), a reversible lint brush (four payments each of $2.49) and a collection of five mercury dimes (four payments each of only $3.74). Yes, the dimes are a bit pricey, but something we’ll be able to handle once we (I assume Carol will share her good fortune with me) collect our $10 million, which is to be paid over 30 years, with a $500,000 hunk for starters.

A slew of magazines also is offered, including Money, House Beautiful and Cruise Travel, each of special interest to future multimillionaires like us. In addition, Carol has qualified for a bonus prize, a 27-inch TV set and--most exciting of all--the “opportunity” to “claim a free mystery gift” by buying just two of the products being offered.

We aren’t hogs, though. With the money we’ll collect, we can afford to let some other slob win the bonus prizes.

Sept. 21: Things are looking very good. A note of congratulation has come for Carol from Robert H. Treller of Publishers Clearing House, saying that Dorothy “tells me you have been endorsed to win our next big SuperPrize. The rest is up to you. Give yourself an extra chance to become Super Rich by entering the new Personal SuperPrize number assigned to you in this bulletin.”

Also included are still more bonus prizes that Carol had qualified for and, of course, more merchandise coupons.

Oct. 9: More great news. Treller has written Carol again: “Your position is very favorable, because thousands of your competitors have either dropped out by not entering at all, or been disqualified for missing the entry deadlines.” All Carol must do is approve or disapprove the enclosed “schedule of payment” for the $10 million.

Just as thrilling is the American Eagle pewter belt buckle being offered for four payments each of only $2.98.

Oct. 21: Someone up there likes us. Along with an opportunity to acquire such stuff as a Cal Ripken Jr. commemorative watch and a windsock, Publishers Clearing House has mailed “Entry Documents Prepared Exclusively for Carol Rosenberg.” And whoa! The scoop? She has made it to the “last stage,” the payoff has jumped to a whopping $11 million and “one of every 10 entrants from this bulletin will be declared a winner.” Because Carol “survived the First Stage elimination process,” says one of the documents, again notarized and signed by our pal, Dorothy, “the name Carol Rosenberg was matched with a unique SuperPrize Number . . . .”

Feeling magnanimous with $11 million on the horizon, I have been weighing plans to share our future wealth by issuing cash stipends to friends and relatives. Our daughter and son-in-law will get a bundle, of course. And I can’t wait to see my brother’s face when I hand him a check for $100,000. But then we’d have to do the same for Carol’s sister. Nah, that’s too much--50 grand for my brother is plenty. Am I nuts? He doesn’t need 50 grand; he’s a lawyer. Ten grand is plenty. No, not fair. That’s what the gardener’s getting. On the other hand, at least the gardener I see every week. Then what about my cousin in Hollywood?

Oct. 31: Confusion, anger. I’m fuming. We trusted Dorothy, and now this. A lousy million! Sure, Dorothy has written Carol that plans are “already underway for presentation of prize money to our new winner in just a few weeks.” Sure, she adds, “That’s why we’re sending you, Carol Rosenberg, this special Prize Award Authorization Bulletin.” Sure, “it contains all the information we need to begin processing a winning entry and to arrange the celebration at your home in (the name of our community) if you are announced the winner.” Sure, the winner will be “announced live on Fox after the Super Bowl Jan. 26.” And sure, Carol is asked to designate a weekend for an expenses-paid trip to New York to include a “sumptuous dinner” with members of the Prize Patrol. Oooooh. And sure, as a bonus, we can buy a set of two “classic collectible” ducks, an all-in-one toilet swab/bathtub swab and a two-volume video collection of “America’s Historic Steam Railroads.”

But Carol, who days ago was in line for a cool $11 million, inexplicably has been slashed to $1 million. After taxes, what, a measly $600,000? Chump change.

Nov. 7: Yowza! Yowza! Carol’s good friend Dorothy must have personally intervened on her behalf. A blue envelope has arrived containing her memo to Carol: “My co-workers have just signed off on the paperwork that could literally make you Eleven Million Dollars richer. I’ve gathered it all together for you--and without much time to spare!” Carol must sign the documents, of course, including a “winner’s address confirmation card from the Prize Patrol to help them find you and make out your prize checks correctly if you are our winner.” Our address--they want our address!

But Carol must mail in these documents pronto. “My colleagues and I have done everything in our power to make you our Big Sweepstakes winner . . . and the rest is up to you,” writes our ally Dorothy.

In addition, lucky Carol is still eligible for a separate $1 million beyond the $11 million. Or is the $1 million part of the $11 million? Who cares?

“Dear Carol Rosenberg,” the note from Dave, Mr. Prize Patrol himself, begins. “It’s just about time for me to set off in search of our next millionaire. Now I can’t tell you who it is I’m surprising with a MILLION DOLLAR visit--but let’s just say I need to know how to find you, Carol Rosenberg, and I need to know right away in the event you’re the winner!”

Dave has included an address confirmation card, which he vows to put into his “special Prize Patrol Winner’s file” for use when it’s time to deliver the million bucks.

Oh, yes, the envelope from Publishers Clearing House contains the usual packet of amazing product offers, including a special deal on a tile-grout whitener that we’re carefully considering.

Nov. 8: Bummer! We’re back to $1 million. Treller writes: “Congratulations: I see Dorothy Addeo, Cliff Resnick and Dave Sayer have all given your name their ‘seal of approval.’ And because you’re such a good friend, Dorothy has issued you a new Personal SuperPrize Number for a last-chance opportunity to become our newest millionaire.” Carol has to “activate” her number, yadda yadda yadda. “Don’t disappoint Dave, Dorothy and Cliff,” Treller implores.

Who is Cliff? I shake the envelope and out falls a card congratulating Carol for getting “approved” to receive this “last-chance bulletin.” It’s signed Cliff Resnick, marketing.

The bulletin has a headline saying that Super Bowl Sunday “MAY INDEED BE A LUCKY DAY FOR CAROL ROSENBERG.”

It continues: “You see, Carol Rosenberg, our computers have identified you as a scheduled-to-win registrant for the next $1 million award.”

All Carol must do is sign and return her “authorization.” And then? Our enthusiasm returns, for ahead is “a life most folks only dream about. A new house . . . exciting trips . . . cars . . . jewelry . . . a retirement nest egg . . . whatever you desire . . . .”

And by the way, not that Carol must buy anything to win, she’s told, but the bulletin does happen to include some “unbeatable bargains even a scheduled-to-win millionaire would love.”

The plug-in mosquito repeller looks inviting.

Carol’s “Final Round Certificate,” meanwhile, contains important instructions that we’re trying to sort out: “Affix seal from envelope here . . . affix SuperPrize Number Label from Dorothy Addeo here . . . affix seal from Cliff Resnick’s letter here . . . place video offer coupon here . . . place John Wayne special coupon here . . . place video selection here.” But below that it says: “Use this form only if ordering. Otherwise, use enclosed non-order entry card.”

At this point, we are utterly confused, driven on only by our expectation of winning, which seems almost a certainty.

Nov. 15: Carol’s “Final Prize Documents” are here, including a note from our friend Dorothy saying Carol had been selected to receive “the final round of mailings. Believe me,” she confides, “not everyone on our list was chosen.”

There is also a personalized note from our friend Dave, who mentions that Carol’s new SuperPrize Number “could be the winner.” But Dave also has a “special request.” Again, not that she must make a purchase to win, but would Carol please order something, anything. Poor Dave is actually pleading. “It doesn’t have to be a big or expensive item. Any order will do.” Why, he will even bring it with him when the Prize Patrol rings our bell.

At four payments each of only $2.74, the multipurpose laser shears do look interesting.

Nov. 21: Our spirits are soaring. A mock tabloid newspaper has arrived, its headline shouting: “CAROL ROSENBERG WINS $1 MILLION,” its subhead announcing: “America Watches as the Rosenbergs Learn of Their New Fortune.”

The lead story begins: “Carol Rosenberg became the newest Publishers Clearing House One Million Dollar winner . . . . Like many Americans, the Rosenbergs were getting ready to watch the Publishers Clearing House winner announcement . . . when the doorbell rang in their (our community) home.”

To Carol’s surprise, the story continues, Dave and the Prize Patrol were at the door with a camera crew, flowers, champagne and a large check. “ ‘Congratulations! You’ve just won One Million Dollars,’ Mr. Sayer announced to the stunned Carol Rosenberg. ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ responded Carol Rosenberg.”

Beneath the story are two photos, one showing the Prize Patrol at a house (not ours), the other with a grinning Dave flanked by two other people holding a big $1 million certificate with Carol’s name on it.

Finally, there is a story about our expenses-paid trip to New York, including a night on the town and “choice seats at a Broadway hit.” On a separate form, Carol indicates the show she wants to see, “The Phantom of the Opera.”

Dec. 10: A white envelope marked “Personal & Confidential” has arrived from Publishers Clearing House. Inside is another sheet of order coupons, another plea from Dave to buy and a merchandise order envelope stamped: “Attn: Mail Room. Upon receipt, please hand deliver to D. Sayer.” Dave seems desperate.

Dec. 18: Wow! Carol’s “Certificate of Attainment” has come, bearing the names of Dorothy, Dave and Daniel P. Doyle, PCH treasurer. And guess what? She’s back to $10 million.

Dec. 26: At last, it’s my turn. Finally PCH includes me, sending my “Final Prize Documents” with a note from Dave labeling me a “potential winner” and adding, “We need to know where to find you on Super Bowl Sunday.” Included is a telephone number where I can reach him should I plan on not being home to receive my $10 million.

Meanwhile, I must inform Publishers Clearing House if I wish payment by certified checks or electronic transfers to my bank. Plus, I, too, must give Fox permission to televise my winning moment.

Jan. 14: No news for me, but Carol’s payoff is getting closer. In the mail are “minutes” from a “SuperPrize Certification Meeting” held in the PCH conference room:

“Cliff Resnick introduced Marketing Department records that showed Carol Rosenberg indeed had a recent entry on file.” And he gave Carol “his approval as a $10 million potential winner on the spot,” the “minutes” continue.

“Dorothy Addeo then spoke on behalf of the Contest Department. Based on Cliff’s approval of Carol Rosenberg as a ‘prime candidate,’ she reserved an additional SuperPrize Number for Carol Rosenberg’s exclusive use. This unique number will be activated upon receipt of Carol Rosenberg’s timely entry.

“Dan Doyle was present from the Finance Department. He said the escrow account for the $10 million SuperPrize has been established and the banking arrangement approved by the chairman of the Country Bank in Carmel, N.Y. If declared the winner, the first prize check will be drawn in Carol Rosenberg’s name. . . . “

Finally, Dave reported at the meeting that he lacked “all the information necessary to locate Carol Rosenberg and plan the Winner’s Weekend.” He promised to prepare “a special questionnaire with all relevant information to be forwarded to Carol Rosenberg.”

And here it is, in the same envelope, with blanks for Carol to fill in the names of our cross streets to ensure that the Prize Patrol will find our house, and another blank for her to supply the name of a “top local restaurant” where she wishes to celebrate with family and friends. A cheap date, she chooses Johnny Rockets.

PCH is so fond of Carol that it also includes a form that she can use to order a set of squeegees.

Meanwhile, Dave is all revved up. “I look forward to announcing to the world,” he writes, “that Carol Rosenberg is the winner of $10 million.”

Yeah, but what about me?

*

Our heads jerked toward the TV as the PCH Prize Patrol logo flashed on the screen to begin a 30-second live spot after the Super Bowl. It showed a black van parked in the snow-covered driveway of a small red-brick house that was being approached by a guy with a TV camera and some people with balloons.

A voice: “Super Sunday Excitement Continues with Publishers Clearing House.” On the screen next was a guy in a green jacket holding a mike, saying: “Hi, I’m Tom Bergeron, host of ‘Fox After Breakfast,’ live with the Prize Patrol’s $10 million surprise.”

Cut to Dave. Our Dave. He’s at a door. The wrong door. And he’s speaking to a woman. The wrong woman.

“Mrs. B. Sankiewicz?” She was thin, wore glasses and looked puzzled. “You have just won $10 million from Publishers Clearing House,” Dave boomed.

“I don’t believe it,” she said.

“Mrs. Sankiewicz, congratulations,” said another Prize Patroller, giving her a bouquet of flowers. “You have just won $10 million,” Dave added, handing her the balloons. “Ten million dollars?” Mrs. Sankiewicz repeated; then she muttered something about fainting.

Wait a minute. Not fair. They were giving $10 million to a woman who should be disqualified for not following the script and saying, “I guess I’m rich now.”

Well, she was. The TV crews were probably already en route, armed with those brutal questions to Dave about whether Mrs. Sankiewicz had bought something from PCH, and the block party was probably already forming.

Dave ended the spot by assuring the winner: “It’s no joke.” Except on us. Although we had our two new magazine subscriptions, I wondered if things would have gone our way had we also bought the windsock or tile-grout whitener.

But the sweepstakes weren’t finished with us. Later that week, a packet came from American Family Publishers bearing the images of Ed McMahon and Dick Clark, announcing in big, bold letters: “Carol Rosenberg, we’ve been searching for you . . . . You’ve just been positively identified as our $11 million mystery millionaire from Ca.!” But first she would have to return her top-winning entry, to find out if it really was the top-winning entry.

We’d just been through a grueling marathon with Publishers Clearing House and weren’t about to waste more time on a repeat performance. What did they take us for, a pair of nincompoops? We were savvy and educated, not brainless yokels who get suckered by every something-for-free offer that comes their way. Fool us once, never twice.

Me: “What was the figure on that entry?”

Her: “$11 million.”

The next day we sent it in.